The Helplessness Blues
by WholeWheatWaffles
Summary: Peeta Mellark is a lowly baker whose world has been turned upside down when he was selected to compete in the Games. Hungry for affection after a miserable attempt at wooing Katniss, he becomes weary and hopeless. That is, until he realizes his opportunity might possibly lie in a certain Career Tribute with a troubled past. Peeta's POV, Cato/Peeta.
1. Chariot of Fire

Author's Note: PLEASE REVIEW. I'd like some constructive criticism because I really suck! Peeta's POV by the way, Cato/Peeta slash. :3

_I can only pray that this is a nightmare._

A dismal, desolate shadow hangs over my head as I sit in the stylist's chair, getting dolled up for what will basically be my televised execution. Just a few days ago, I was at home, preparing for the Reaping. I wasn't at all expecting my name to be called. Of course, I was afraid of it, but I was shocked beyond comprehension when it actually happened. That shock came before everything else, really. It didn't even hit me until I saw my family, in tears, convinced they'd never see me again. I never even knew they cared about me until that point, but that emotional stuff doesn't really matter up against what I'm faced with now. I'm not prepared for this at all. At the time, I'd never seen the Capitol before, never ridden a train before, heck, I've never even left District Twelve before. Ever since the then, and perhaps a bit before it, my life's been a big domino effect of unfortunate circumstances. I, out of all the boys in my District, was chosen at random to fight to the death in the Hunger Games. If that weren't enough of a dilemma, the female tribute from Twelve that will accompany me is Katniss Everdeen.

Katniss and I are very different people. Polar opposites, if you will. Although we've both been raised in the same poverty-stricken town, she's much more capable than me. In place of her late father, she's assumed the patriarch role in her family, spending her days poaching in the woods with her best friend, Gale Hawthorne. Both of them are the providers of their families, keeping food in their mothers' and siblings' mouths. I, on the other hand, am a baker's son, the youngest of my brothers. I've always lived under the shade of a decent food supply. Although my parents are temperamental, they at least work to support our home. At the Reaping, Katniss nobly volunteered as Tribute in Prim's place. I walked onto the stage alone, apparently no one really wanted to take mine. As long as I can remember, Katniss is the only girl I've ever really noticed. I doubt she's ever noticed me, save the one time I gave her a loaf of bread when we were younger. Even then, she only noticed me because she was starving, and I was the one who made sure her stomach didn't collapse. Afterwards, I took a harsh beating from my mother, but it didn't really matter. I was honored to have given Katniss what she appeared to have needed. If win these Games, she would have to die. If I wanted to live, the odds of taking her life are slim considering how adept and resilient she is in the skills of hunting and survival. But honestly, I'd rather die than let her be killed.

I sigh deeply. I feel like a lamb, without defense, tossed into a pack of wolves. Since it's required for everyone in the country of Panem to watch the annual Games on TV, I've seen the brutality that comes with the death of each tribute. Ever since I was young, one of my most crippling fears was having my name drawn to enter that violent massacre. To prepare for all the television publicity, each Tribute's been assigned a stylist and prep team. My stylist is a bouncy blonde woman with bright orange eyes, named Portia. She's definitely the most down-to-earth and modest person I've seen here in the Capitol, while my prep team is basically an abstract painting. Utopia is a short, plump woman who's dyed her hair candy pink. She seems to be very jovial; her smile never seems to fade. Dima is very tall and lean, and she's pierced every eligible part of her body. Quiet and bitter, she waxed nearly every hair off of my skin during my first salon visit. Wellum is a stout man with purple freckles littering his face. His hair is dyed a corresponding pattern of blue and green stripes. But he's professional for a cosmetologist, never stuttering or mumbling during conversation. I kind of hate the people at the Capitol. All they really care about is the physical appearance. To me, outward beauty is a gift only cherished by the wealthy. Those who actually have money, clothing and shelter really have nothing else to worry about.

Portia turns the salon chair to face the mirror as we both admire my prep team's fashionable creation. My blonde hair is slicked back with gel, and I am dressed in a snug, black leather unitard. I'm not sure how this costume represents District Twelve, but I'll go along with it. I look hot.

"Peeta, you look stunning." She says, brushing some kind of mineral powder over my cheeks.

She takes a step back and smiles, like an artist that has just completed a beautiful masterpiece. She removes me from my chair and escorts me out of the salon. In passing, Utopia, Dima and Wellum enthuse about how "charming" I look. Personally, I think there's nothing charming about how the Capitol perceives beauty. Everything here is either genetically enhanced, dyed, powdered or otherwise resembles a fruit bowl.

We walk out the back door of the salon, down a discreet back road to the tunnel that all of the Tribute chariots are tucked away in. The cries of what could definitely be the entire population of the Capitol are waiting on the other side, the noise booming through the ground below us. They've waited all year to see the Tributes of the 74th Annual Hunger Games, and all their excitement is explosive. When we finally spot Katniss and her stylist, Cinna, I'm immediately taken aback by her beauty. My word, she's hot. Her long, dark hair is braided as usual, but tied up in a creative fashion, revealing her fair but sullen face. Cinna and Portia assist us up into our chariot, which has the number Twelve shimmering in gold across the front. Katniss is staring straight ahead, her stature frozen in fear. Her eyes are carefully studying the other Districts' chariots in front of us.

"Don't be nervous," I say, offering a kind smile. "They'll love you."

No response. Figures.

Cinna walks up alongside our chariot with a small, silver remote. "Are you two afraid of fire?" We both nod our heads side to side. Truthfully, I'm scared to death of fire, but I can't say that in front of everyone. If there's one thing you can't do during the Games, it's showing weakness. If you show weakness, everyone's going to think you're a sissy, and no one will sponsor you. No sponsors, no gifts. No gifts, more likely of a death.

The fashionable man smiles creatively. "Good, because this will be District Twelve's best entrance yet. I promise, it won't hurt a bit."

Our chariot begins to move. Cinna presses a button on his remote, causing a strange tingling sensation on my shoulder blades. Katniss and I twist our heads to look behind us. He's crafted our costume to resemble flaming coals, fabricated flames cascading off our shoulders. I'm kind of confused as to how they were made, but they're showy and beautiful. Exactly what we're supposed to be. When we emerge from the tunnel, the multitudes of Capitol citizens go insane. Haymitch, our mentor, told us to impress the crowd to obtain sponsors in the Games, so I take Katniss's hand. She quickly jerks it away.

"Come on," I say, pitifully. "They'll love it."

"Fine." she snarls.

Reluctantly, she takes my hand. Her hesitance to touch me hurts my feelings for a brief moment, but soon I'm distracted by the volume of the crowds. Both of us raise our arms in the air, our hands joined together for all to see. The crowds deafen us with cheers and whistles louder than the fireworks overhead. I can't help from grinning as I begin to feel a high from the pride and adrenaline coursing through my veins. I've never been so publically recognized before in my life, and to be holding Katniss' hand in the midst of everyone is something I've only dreamed of. When we ride into the City Circle, I refocus my attention on my setting as our chariots stop before the podium of the frosty-haired President Snow.

"Welcome, Tributes!" he declares in a deep, loud voice, taming the sounds of the city. The sudden silence makes my ears ring. Cinna turns off our flames so the citizens listen to Snow's speech instead of ogling over our costumes.

My eyes dart across the pavilion, drinking in the sight of the other Tributes. None of the other costumes even compare to the uniqueness of ours. The only ones that come anywhere near Cinna's work are those worn by the pair of Tributes from District Two. They are adorned in golden, Roman-style armor, smiling and waving at the cheering crowds. I don't see how it symbolizes Peacekeeper training or masonry, but it is definitely showy. Careers, Tributes from Districts One and Two serve as the Capitol's underlings as the richest districts in Panem. They are almost always the victors of the Games, so usually they're given the most extravagant costumes. The male Tribute glances back in my direction, the look on his fact indicating he's furious at the attention I've just received. I quickly look away, realizing that Katniss has let go of my hand. She was probably more than eager to.

I've tried to block out Snow's explanation to the audience of the sick procedure of the Games. Katniss has scooted a considerable foot away from me, and it makes me feel repulsive. I realize that I really am alone in this dilemma. I mean, it can't get any worse. Here I am, only sixteen years old, about to die for some wealthy freak show's form of entertainment. To make matters worse, this isn't exactly the place to win Katniss' heart, so I'm going to die without any romantic experience. And for a guy, that's a pretty big deal. To die a virgin is almost like dying in a pink dress. Personally, I care more for love and romance than sex, but that just constitutes me more to actually wear a pink dress.

I break out of my state of self woe, trying to grapple onto the President's message. I don't know why, but I tentatively glance back at the District Two boy. To my surprise, his eyes are still locked on me. He shoots me a smirk, accompanied by a wink.

Is he trying to taunt me or something?

When the President concludes and deserts his podium, the Tributes step out of their chariots. Haymitch and Effie assist Katniss and I out of ours, gushing at what a great reputation we've given the Capitol. Their conversation fades into the grilling of Katniss about her experience at the salon. Even since the Reaping, she's absorbed most of the attention from our mentors. A burning sensation pricks the back of my head, and I look back. The District Two boy is studying me from his chariot. The expression on his face is a sarcastic smile, and it's nonverbally beckoning me. I look back at Katniss and my mentors to find they've began walking away, back toward the Tributes' Tower without me. I was definitely right about being alone. I look back at the District Two boy, who begins to huskily walk toward me through the bustling crowd. His stature is incredibly muscular, and the plummeting neckline of his armor accentuates it. He is taller than me by about six inches, and I conclude that this guy's likely going to rip me to shreds in the arena. Being approached by a Career Tribute makes the hairs on my neck stand straight in a combination of fear and reverence. Why is he even paying me any mind at all?

"Looks like you're expecting sponsors in the arena." he says, arrogantly. "The name's Cato."

I try to act cordial and composed, but I swear my face is flushing a bright shade of vermillion from nerves.

"It's nice to meet you Cato. My name's Peeta."

I shake his hand politely, but his grip is firm and abrasive. He smiles slyly. "Enough small talk, when we start training tomorrow, you come find me."

"Um, I'll see if I can find the time-"

He narrows his gaze. "You've got just as much time as I do tomorrow. Come. Find. Me."

"Um, alright." I'm appalled by his boldness, because I've never met someone so arrogant. I'm not sure if I just made an ally, or if I've just screwed my life over. Most likely the latter.

He turns to walk away, smiling cockishly. "Good."

Why in the world would he want me to train with him? I can question his motive for long periods of time, but instead I sigh, relieved the short and awkward dialogue has ended. I watch as he confidently strides back to his chariot, where all of the Career Tributes seem to be mingling. Since Katniss and my mentors have already left, I realize that I should probably get back to the our floor, the Penthouse. I sprint back toward the salon, which neighbors the Tributes' Tower. I run inside the lobby, then into the elevator, replaying the initial route I arrived there in my head. I catch my breath as the transparent tube propels me up to the twelfth floor, thankful I've remembered this much. As I watch the city shrink below me through the glass, I wonder why Cato wanted me to seek him out while training. I mean, all I did was look at the guy's costume. Heck, I even thought he was attractive. I imagine dying at his strong hands, and it chills me to the bone.

When I walk into our room, I find that everyone's began partaking of dinner without me. Definitely not the first time that kind of thing has happened. The place is beautiful, I must admit. It's like a painting that just came to life. A banquet-sized mahogany table sits beneath a crystal chandelier, adorned with bowls of ripe, plump fruit for ornament. The furniture is shaped asymmetrically, and the color scheme is a relaxing shade of periwinkle. I guess this is a nice place to basically wait on death row.

"And where have you been?" questions Effie, in her stuffy, mannerly Capitol accent. Her hands are placed on her hips, like a teacher upset with a student.

I quickly choose from a handful of excuses. "I-I was just people-watching."

"Well, make your timing better next time." she says, believing me and returning her attention to her lamb stew.

Hesitantly, I sit down and slowly consume dinner without a word. The food here is succulent, rich in every nutrient that Katniss and I are probably lacking. The rest of the table is silent, as everyone is likely just as engrossed in this meal as I am. Haymitch is enjoying a tall bottle of white vodka, guzzling it at the speed of light. He's known for constantly drinking himself to stupor. His sunken cheeks and harsh face indicate that he's suffered quite the quantity of hangovers. Effie, on the contrary, is mannerly and proper, powdered from head to toe. Her voluptuous hair, dress and facial features all glow a fluorescent pink, which is sickening to look at for more than a few minutes.

"What suggestions do you have for us, Haymitch?" demands Katniss, while stirring her food with her spoon.

Sarcastically, he takes time to ponder an answer. "Um, stay alive. Or at least try. You don't really stand a chance."

Katniss' eyes narrow. "But you did it."

The alcohol seems to be wearing Haymitch's mind, causing his words to slur. "Look, we aren't talking about me. And it's a little soon to be discussing this, right? Enjoy yourself."

I can tell that Katniss is fuming, her eyes narrowing on Haymitch like prey. She angrily consumes every bit of her stew in silence. When dinner is done, I say good night and depart to my room. I lay in my luxury bed, weighted down with emotions. I wish that Katniss would stop being so aloof. I understand that she's nervous, but at least she's got a chance of survival with her hunting skills. Haymitch was correct, I've got next to nothing, except the disdain of a powerful Career that intimidates me like a schoolyard bully. But as apprehensive as I am about this entire situation, I promise myself to stay strong for Katniss. It's all I can do.


	2. An Awkward Meal

Wake up! Wake up!" I jolt awake to Effie shrieking enthusiastically in my ear. "Today is a big, big, big day!"

Exasperated, I groan and stretch, lifting myself out of bed to appease her. "Alright, alright, I'm getting up."

"Good," she says. "In that case, I'm going to get started on _my_ duties for the day."

"Mmmm…" I groan again, just to prove how tired I am to her. "You do that."

"And you get out of bed, Mr. Mellark! I don't have to want to remind you again!"

I wait until she scampers away, listening to her high heels clicking all the way through the Penthouse. Then, I flop back down and stare at the emptiness engulfing most of the bed. I realize I've never had anyone to share a bed with. To share myself with. I've dreamed that Katniss would someday grant me that, but she's barely said a word to me since the Reaping. But I figure laying here, brooding over unrequited love is pretty self-destructive. I mean, if she doesn't feel the same way, clearly, I should just move on. The only problem is, there's nothing to move on to. I'll be dead in a matter of days, without even a first kiss. So, why should it matter?

The scent of savory meat coaxes me out of bed as I walk to the dining room for breakfast. Roast duck, apple turnovers and vegetable fritters sit on the table, just waiting to be devoured. I sit down, my mouth watering right up to my first bite. Effie is eating with utmost etiquette, being careful not to soil her flouncy fuchsia gown. Katniss, however, is shoveling forkfuls of food into her mouth as if she'll never eat again. Bits of stray food fall from her mouth to her lap, which causes Effie's painted face to scrunch in disgust. It's funny how mannerly Effie is, and she of all people has to mentor Katniss, whose etiquette isn't much better than that of a caveman. Haymitch is surprisingly sober, sitting upright and using table manners. It's nice to see him act civil for once.

"Now," he begins, sternly. "Today is the first day of your physical training sessions with the other Tributes. You'll be going down to the Training Pavilion. Avoid showing them your strengths, 'cause they'll try and top them. Katniss, that means you avoid the archery station. Peeta, avoid the weight station."

We both nod our heads in agreement, not wanting to let words spoil the delicacy we're tasting. Haymitch seems to catch onto this, as he decides to engulf his meal in pleasure instead of discussing what's ahead. Because, during the Games, food won't come so easily. I guess it's best to savor it while you have it. The bulk of Katniss' plate has mostly disappeared, and she's slowing her consumption. The harsh scowl worn on her face tells me that she's in a less than amiable mood. I avoid talking to her, eating my breakfast in a meek silence. I try to visualize the arena: the cries of pain and torture that derive from the initial bloodbath, Cato ruthlessly murdering everything in sight... I shudder, remembering his words from yesterday, probing me to meet him while training. My stomach churns. Even though I was abused at home, at least the beatings from my parents carried a note of mercy. If he wants to rough me up, this guy won't stop until I'm out cold. I don't want any sponsors to know about this, or else they could send in Peacekeepers for supervision or even worse, confront Cato. With that kind of conflict at hand, he'd be angry, and immediately take my life in the arena out of resent.

When breakfast is finished, Effie assigns us black and red training uniforms with our District numbers worn on the sleeve. I laugh when I look in the mirror; these shirts look more suitable to middle-aged recreational bowlers than amateur warriors. I wish with all my heart we were only bowling.

Haymitch and Katniss are waiting for me by the elevator, where we step inside. He presses the "B" button for the basement, which lies far below ground level. He begins to instruct us as we descend. "Now I was originally going to pin you two side by side, but I'm going to let you train separately. I think you already know each others' skills, and you two need to focus on your training, not on each other's presence."

"Alright," I say reluctantly. "But we don't have to avoid each other either, right?"

"Not at all." Haymitch replies. "But there will be a dinner tonight where all of the Tributes and Gamemakers will dine together. I encourage you to mingle. Make a good impression on them, if they have any hearts at all they'd have a harder time killing you."

Not Cato, I think to myself. I'm sure he's just as much of a heartless brute as he comes off as. The doors open, unveiling a huge, sectioned gym where the rest of the Tributes are already training. I find a raven-haired girl throwing knives into the chests of gauze dummies, hitting the target precisely with each throw. I tense up. Another tribute, who is extremely large, beats a punching bag until it flies off the hinges. I nervously scan the room for Cato, and I find him almost immediately.

"Damnit, where's my sword?" He yells at a Peacekeeper, who looks a bit intimidated by Cato's size and temper. "I fucking set it down here, you liar! You took it!"

He begins to push and threaten the Peacekeeper, which is halfway amusing and half frightening. His veins pulse indignantly and sweat beads down his forehead from rage. Although I gulp, feeling subdued and inferior, his temperament doesn't surprise me. I'm very accustomed to outbursts back home, and it's stereotypical for Careers to act domineering and imperialistic. Despite my intimidation of him, I've always admired people with confidence to voice what their needs are, even if it's a bit poorly controlled. I also notice a frail, young girl of African descent peering at Katniss and I from behind a corner. The look on her face is both curious and reverent. I nudge Katniss.

"I think you have a shadow."

Katniss looks in the direction of the girl and smiles. I look around at all of the different stations. Spear throwing, wrestling, knot tying, the list goes on.

"Peeta," I hear her hushed voice behind me, pointing at a weighted ball. "The Careers are sizing you up like bait. Throw that weight over there."

My head spins around almost involuntarily. Surely enough, four Career tributes stand at a distance, studying me. A smirking boy, the knife-thrower, and a blonde girl seductively sticking her chest out are expectantly glaring at me, crossing their arms. Their eyes are pinning me down. I break eye contact, looking at Katniss again.

"But didn't Haymitch-" I begin.

"Forget about it. They think you're weak!" She says sharply, turning away.

I remember my promise to stay strong for her, and glance back at the Careers. Cato has just walked over to join them, standing as the alpha male in front. He's calmed down, and his face is more curious than patronizing like that of the other tributes. I maintain eye contact with him, until I find myself slowly unracking the ball weight. It seems to weighs about 100 lbs, but I lift it without a hint of difficulty, then send it soaring into a steel quiver of arrows. They scatter on the ground, clanging loudly all over the floor. I look back at Cato. I can feel my facial expression beg for their approval. The other three Tributes haughtily raise their eyebrows and walk away. I realize that Katniss did not stay to watch this nonverbal showdown; she's already disappeared to a different sect of the gym to practice something she sucks at. Cato walks directly over to me with the same confident step as last night. I freeze, bracing myself.

"You're pretty strong for an outlying district." He says, with a surprisingly calm essence.

I feel myself tremble, even under the calm exterior, but I try to hide it. "Thanks, used to always lift and throw good-sized flour bags back at home."

Cato raises an eyebrow. "Flour sacks?"

"I lived in a bakery." I expect a cocky remark, and maybe a fist in my face, but instead he nods cordially.

"Damn."

Our conversation cuts to a brief silence, the awkwardness masked by my pretending to study the other Tributes. Maybe he doesn't intend to injure me before the Games. It's against the rules to, anyway.

"Let's check out the camoflauge station."

"Alright." I agree, trying not to sound eager or nervous. I remember what Haymitch said about concealing our strengths from the opponent's eye, and art happens to be a strong point of mine. We walk to the vacant station, surveying the materials; textured paint, clay, berries, brushes and tree replicas for reference. I decide to paint a careless tree branch on my arm.

"So who's the girl you came with?" I ask, trying to make conversation.

"The one throwing knives. Her name's Clove." He responds, balancing talking and slowly brushing in a poorly drawn leaf on his hand. "You're a pretty good painter."

Damn. I was trying not to give myself away. "Thanks."

Cato looks around the station room, making sure we're still in solitude. "Say, you seem like a pretty strong kid for an outlying District."

"...Thanks." I say. I mentally cross my fingers, hoping he isn't going to pick a fight.

"None of the other Careers are good painters."

"It's something you're born with, I guess."

We work in a pensive silence. I have no idea what is going through his mind, why he's even talking to me, or what he's aiming at. My guess is that he's trying to learn my strengths in order to gain insight on how to defeat me in the arena. As much as the Games are being talked about and prepared for, it still feels so surreal to me. I feel like somehow, I'm just envisioning a horrible daydream. That I'm still at home, icing cakes in the bakery, thinking up a tragic fantasy.

"I'm going to the sword station." He breaks through the quiet of the iron curtain. "I'll see you at dinner."

"Alright, see you then." I say, politely as possible.

When I hear his footsteps echo quietly out of the room, I begin painting a branch on my arm to the best of my ability. Within seconds, Katniss walks in. She stands over me, watching me discolor my skin. I'm almost finished.

"How'd you learn to do that?" she asks.

"It's just like icing cakes." I hold my arm up to the tree to show her the resemblance.

She intently watches me make the final touches. I'm not sure what to say to her, or if I should even mention my encounter with Cato. I certainly don't want her to think I'm giving myself away, or collaborating with the enemy against her in the Games. When I finally finish, I wash the thick, goopy material off my arm and stay by Katniss' side until dinner. We train quietly and impersonally, the only words we exchange pertaining strictly to our duties. Questions regarding Cato flash across my mind. What does he want to attain by talking to me? What did I do to him to make him target me? How will he use any of my strengths he witnessed against me?

While Katniss and I are walking to the spear station, the bell rings. The gym stops silent as a robotic voice informs us that dinner is being served at the banquet hall on the floor directly above.

"You put in some hard work today, Katniss." I say.

For the first time since we arrived, she smiles gently. "So did you."

Each Tribute lines up to board the elevator, which is quite small. Only about four people can fit inside, so it takes about six trips to transport everybody up. Nobody says a word while waiting, the silence so thick one could cut through it. Katniss and I are last in line, standing behind a pair of tall and lanky Tributes from District Seven.

When we reach the banquet hall, I find it much like a rich and flamboyant school cafeteria. Three long, rectangular tables sit in the midst of a ballroom-sized floor. On each table lies twenty-four chrome plates, silverware sets and a blue marble vase that holds sickeningly fragrant roses. I feel out of place having come to such an occasion still wearing my sweaty training uniform, but everyone else is wearing the same thing. Some of the Tributes begin seating themselves at the table. I remember Haymitch advising us to mingle, so Katniss and I join them, agreeing to take seats at opposite ends of the table. I look down at my plate. It's so shiny I can see my reflection. Back in Twelve, no one could afford plates. We ate our food directly off of the table. I'm sure Effie would find the table manners there beyond repulsive. Just thinking about her setting foot into someplace like the Hob makes me chuckle.

"Hey Twelve." says a familiar voice across from me.

I look up to see Cato, wearing his signature smirky smile.

"H-Hey." I fumble with the tablecloth in my lap, trying not to manifest fear on my face. I try to make conversation. Think, Peeta. Think of something to say...

"This is a really nice banquet hall, don't you think?"

Gosh, I'm about to slap myself over how stupid that sounded.

He sits back, crossing his arms. "Yeah, the ones in District Two don't touch this."

"You guys have banquet halls?"

"Only in our Justice Building." He says, cordially. "We used to tour it annually in school."

"I've only been in ours once, but that's neat."

He looks to over to his right. The Gamemakers have entered, adorned in flowing purple gowns. Every Career aside from Cato flocks around them, desperately trying to be friendly and win their sympathy. I honestly don't want to talk to them, even if Haymitch told me to. They're setting the stage for my death, regardless of how much I impress them. I begin to loosen up, seeing that Cato really isn't going to hurt me, at least not at this moment. In fact, sitting across from me, he just looks like a normal eighteen-year old boy, not the bloodthirsty maniac I predetermined him to be.

He leans closer to the middle of the table. "Hey, I have a proposition for you."

A proposition? "What is it?" I ask.

"Well, the other Careers are pretty weak this year. I was wondering... if maybe, you'd like to join our alliance in the Games? Y'know, we can all fight together for a while."

I look over at Katniss. Lonely, defenseless Katniss, who isn't talking to anyone, but stares into her plate as if she could see the entire world in it. Maybe I could protect her using the collaboration with the wealthier Tributes by leading them away from her. I could probably keep myself alive longer as well.

I hesitate before agreeing. "Alright, I guess that sounds okay."

Cato smiles, appeased. "I'm glad you agree."

The doors to the kitchen burst open as six frantic Avoxes push carts of decadent roast beef, corn rolls and stewed vegetables to each of the tables. The rest of the Careers sit down around Cato and I, making me stand out like a sore thumb as the only outlying District Tribute in their vicinity. Sitting by Cato is the blonde girl and a pair of Tributes from District Three. I am sandwiched between the District One boy and Clove.

"Hey Clove, we've got a new ally." He says, nodding his head in my direction.

Clove and I make what has to be the most awkward eye contact I've ever been subject to. She stares at me with a glare reminding me of a toddler eyeing a strange food before taking a bite. I have no idea what expression to make, so I politely smile, trying to hold in laughter at how funny her face looks.

"I guess he looks capable," she says, reaching for my hand. "I'm Clove."

I shake her hand gently, and she does the same. To my surprise, she smiles at me. "My name's Peeta."

An Avox girl dashes around the table with the cart, and begins to spoon generous helpings of food onto each of our plates. If it weren't for the Peacekeepers standing at all four corners of the room, I would thank her, but by Capitol rules, Tributes are forbidden to speak to Avoxes. Avoxes may look like normal, redheaded people at first glance, but once they open their mouths, they are no longer normal. In the past, each one's committed a crime and had their tongues gauged out by the Capitol, who turns them into speechless servants. Another example to show how fucked up the Capitol is. But really, how awful and magnificent it would be to not have a tongue. We could easily stray away from saying the things we'd regret, but then again, never be able to say anything at all.

Everyone in the room immediately begins to eat, but the blonde girl sitting next to Cato leans her head on his shoulder, grasping his bicep.

"Mmm," she purrs, "you're definitely built to my liking."

Cato jerks his shoulder and pushes her away. "Oh, fuck off, Glimmer."

She vengefully glares at him before reverting her attention quickly to me. Her face morphs from a bitter frown to a sugary smile. "You're kind of cute," she says, contorting her lip to a pout.

"Um, thanks I guess." I awkwardly take a bite of my corn roll. Truthfully, I'm already sickened by her promiscuous first impression, and I don't find her anywhere near attractive. Her face is hidden by thick layers of makeup and her green eyes are barely visible through her false eyelashes.

"That's Marvel, sitting beside you." she says, gazing wishfully at him.

"It's nice to meet you, Peeta." he says, crisply shaking my hand.

Unlike the others, he seems like the only one here accustomed to social norms, even more than myself. "It's nice to meet you too."

I look around the table of Tributes. Each of them, even Cato, are using perfect table manners. I pick up my fork and stab a single carrot and proceed to feed myself as if the way I ate were being televised all through out Panem. This is officially the most uncomfortable dinner I've ever had in all of my sixteen years.

"So when did all of you meet?" I ask Cato, breaking the ice a bit.

He holds up his hand to signify food in his mouth, then swallows it quickly. "We met yesterday at the Parade, decided to train together today."

"That's nice." I say, returning my attention to my roast.

For the rest of dinner, Clove and I say nothing, but laugh to ourselves as Glimmer bounces her flirting between Marvel and Cato, who both make it clear that she's annoying them. Unfortunately, she continues to make a fool of herself by persisting. Occasionally, Cato and I meet eyes and quietly chuckle at her. I look behind me and find that all of our mentors have snuck in and are seated at one of the tables. Effie is chuckling heartily, enjoying spirits with Haymitch and a few others. I quickly register that Haymitch's eyes are glued to me, the expression on his face is vexed. He shouldn't be disconcerted, as he's the one who told us to mingle in the first place. I look at Katniss, who is sitting beside the same small girl who admired her from behind the corner. The two of them are chatting, both of them smiling. Nobody seems to mind.

Everyone seems to rise from their table in unison a few minutes after I've consumed my last bite. I shake hands with the Careers cordially. Glimmer hangs onto my hand for a bit too long, not hesitant to maintain eye contact as she tells me what a joy it was to have met me. Cato grasps my hand very firmly, thanking me for sitting with him. Clove and Marvel say nothing, but smile politely. Soon, Haymitch, Effie and Katniss join me and we walk silently back to the elevator.

I gulp hard, staring down at the bustling city below. I decide not to tell Katniss about my allies.


	3. The Career Tributes

The elevator dings as we reach the Penthouse, and the doors roll open. Katniss, in a matter of two minutes, has made a complete one-eighty of attitude. One minute, she was sociable and smiling, the next she reverts back to her groggy morning self. She's put on her unpleasant grimace, departing without a word to her room. It's difficult to believe that this is the same girl who completely made my day yesterday by praising my strength. Effie and Haymitch sit down at the table and sigh. Reluctantly, I join them, knowing this conversation can't be evaded.

"Peeta," begins Effie. "We saw you talking with the Careers."

"Well, you guys told me to mingle."

My two mentors look at one another, like two confused parents trying to conclude an answer to a quizzical child. Here it comes.

"Peeta, it's a great thing to be social, and it's even better to befriend Careers. But I want you to be careful." Haymitch says.

"You mean you don't mind it?" I ask, speaking the exact words on my mind.

"Not at all, in fact I'm all for it. But like I said, be careful. Everyone will be sponsoring them and if you guys ally, you'll prolong your survival in the arena. Besides, it adds dramatic appeal on camera. But be warned, they're not going to care when it comes time to eliminate you from the Games."

I swallow the lump in my throat, heeding his warning. "Alright, but... I've already allied."

"Well," sighs Haymitch, pouring himself yet another drink. "Why'd you do it? They must have offered you something."

"They didn't! I did it to protect Katniss!" I raise my voice. "She's the one who's going home anyway! My own mother even told me that! I'm going to die here!"

They just stare blankly at me. All of us know it's the truth, but no one wants to affirm it. Frankly, I don't know what hurts more; being rejected in my final hours, the fact that I'm even aware of my final hours, or that nobody has confidence in me. Effie cautiously stares over her shoulder to look down the hall, making sure that Katniss is nowhere in our vicinity."It's probably best she doesn't know. In that case, you two will need to train alone from now on." She whispers. "Now, it's been a long day and it's getting late, I want you to get to bed. Tomorrow is a big day!"

I'm certainly tired, so I don't object. I creep down the hall quietly, trying to overhear anything Haymitch and Effie are discussing. They seem to be purposely remaining silent, suspending their conversation until I'm out of earshot. But what can they say that I've done wrong? Everyone seems to be avoiding the fact that I'll be dead in a few days. Whether it's a Career that takes my life or not, I'm still damned to the same fate. I just found a way to stall it for a while. I crawl under the sheets of the billowy, goose feather bed in my room. It's still empty, making it hard to savor my last days. But I guess it can't be helped. I just wish I could somehow safely return home and lie under my own lonely sheets.

* * *

The third day of our preparatory phase comes much too quickly. While I'm still tired, I'm eager to find the Careers in the Training Pavilion. I figure I'll have to do a lot more than throwing a single weight or painting on my arm to support the strength they're convinced I have. My stomach sinks as I consider that Haymitch might have told Katniss about the Careers. I'm being anything but strong right now, cowardly hiding the allies I've found from her. I begin the daily ritual of pulling myself out of bed, washing myself in the uselessly complex shower, and finally putting on the demeaning bowler uniform. I walk down the hall for breakfast, where Katniss and my mentors are enjoying pungent plates of glazed ham and eggs. Although neither she or I say much to one another beyond "good morning", Haymitch and Effie fill the grim air with jabber of their own. Judging by every one's demeanor, I don't think they've told Katniss their opinion on us training separately. She still seems aloof, but no different than usual. I can't help but admire how beautiful she is, and how many people she will be able to return home for. A cunning archer with a strategic mind, I don't see how she could lose. The world would be such a dull place without her, or at least mine would be.

When breakfast is finally finished, we descend the elevator to the Training Pavilion, this time without Haymitch. A twisting inside my gut marks my anticipation to seek the Careers. My eyes begin scanning the large-scale room the second the door opens.

"Alright, Peeta," says Katniss, avoiding eye contact. "Meet me back at the elevator before dinnertime."

If she intends to separate, maybe Haymitch or Effie have already told her not to train with me. Nonetheless, I am relieved. Evidently, she still doesn't hate me, so either they didn't tell her, or she simply reacted to it well.

"Alright, stay safe." I say, warmly.

I watch as she walks away, her mocha colored braid bouncing on her back like a horse's tail. I can't help but feel broken, as I know I really don't have much of a chance of ever winning her heart. Still, I walk around the gym, making sure to avoid her as I prowl for the Careers. I move from room to room, station to station without a hint of luck of finding them. Before I can register what is happening, a blade is swiftly pulled to my throat, and I feel moist warmth down my the back of my neck. In shock, I hold my breath.

"Found you." says a familiar voice behind me. Cato removes the blade from in front of my throat, smirking when I turn around. His team of Careers is behind him.

"Well," I chuckle. "That woke me up."

"I figured you'll want to train with us today."

"Yes, that's exactly what I had in mind."

Glimmer walks up to my side, grabbing my arm. "How about we try our hands at sword wielding, hm?"

I jerk my arm away, but smile politely. Cato glares at her, his eyes telling her to assert herself and be serious. She seems to understand, staying silent for a while. The rest of the group agrees on the sword station, and begins migrating over. I follow close behind Cato, using him as a shield against Glimmer's attempts at seduction. While everyone picks their weaponry off of the wall, he abrasively hands me a sword.

"I'll teach you how to fight," he says, lifting the large, heavy knife with no difficulty. "Would you like that?"

"Yes, I would."

Cato teaches me a few basic slices and jabs, which he insists will be essential in the Games. I listen intently, admiring his skill. Maybe it's his zeal for sport, or the way he's convinced me into his group of Careers, but something about this boy inspires me. It's strange, how yesterday morning I was convinced he was going to brutally beat me to a pulp, but after the banquet, he invited me into his circle, and now I wish we didn't have to die at each others' favor. I could easily see myself befriending him. Being in the Career group boosts my ego, makes me feel superior to every other Tribute. Yet, at the same time I feel very disconcerted, remembering Haymitch's words. If I did stand a breeze of a chance of winning the Games, I've just severed it.

Before I know it, though, I'm becoming fine tuned with this sword. Even using simple, basic moves, makes me feel like an adept champion. Cato is extremely skilled; his knife is versatile and his arm is strong, which will make for a deadly opponent in the Games. Seeing him fight with a sword scares me to death, knowing that if he eventually uses it against me I don't have a chance of surviving it. We stop fencing for a bit to observe the other Careers. Clove and Marvel are fighting vigorously, sweat falling like tears from their foreheads. Glimmer is cheering on Clove, looking more like an air-headed mascot than something to be afraid of.

"Hey!" Marvel yells, wiping his brow. "Let's go get lunch!"

I doubt Katniss will be eating lunch, as she's probably busying herself with training. I figure it's safe to go with them. I place my sword back on the rack, but Cato tosses his loudly down on the vinyl floor before we both join the rest. The Careers seem to travel as a pack. It's difficult to believe that they are hungry for each other's blood, because from far out they seem like inseparable friends. We walk to the Pavilion cafeteria which is about the size of my parent's bakery. Apparently, this is small under common Capitol opinion.

I skim the menu for something that sounds appetizing. All of this food seems so wealthy and luxurious to what consists of a meal back at District Twelve. Hamburgers, turkey sandwiches, even salads are a delicacy that even the wealthy workers in the Justice Building are fortunate to eat. Glimmer and Clove split a salad, and Marvel snacks on lavender-flavored potato chips. Cato ravenously demolishes a sandwich, and since I am worn from the fencing, I enjoy a hamburger.

"Hungry much?" Clove says, seeming to disapprove of Cato's rate of consumption.

"I'm hungry, damnit, leave me alone." he snaps.

She raises both her eyebrows and widens her eyes. "Fine."

"A big guy like him has got to eat." Glimmer interjects. Cato rolls his eyes, taking another large bite.

I decide it's best not to say anything, as everyone else is pretty preoccupied with their hunger. Clove and Glimmer finish first and pepper the silence with catty, gossipy comments about the other Tributes. Marvel sits quietly in thought. I just can't get over how much they don't really seem to care about their impending fate. There are twenty-four of us, and only one comes out alive. They don't exactly have the time to sit and build camp-like friendships during training hours. When Cato and I finish, we agree on visiting the weight station. We walk inside the room that reeks of sweat, and I find myself at somewhat of a stalemate. If I do my best training here, the Careers will learn my abilities and mirror them in the arena, using them against me. If I mask them, they might just kill me right off the bat since I'm not strong enough.

"I was never good with weight lifting. I guess I'm too scrawny." says Marvel, humbly.

Glimmer picks up a 10 lb. weight, which is not much of a challenge. "Oh come on! It's really very easy."

I am starting to detest Glimmer and Clove. I can't even begin on how much more personal integrity Katniss possesses. She's much more humble and prudent, unlike these wealthy girls who will likely die in the initial bloodbath of the Games, or they'll survive for a while, and constantly want supplies because they're so accustomed to having them at an arm's reach.

"I'll show you what's easy." I say, in a cocky tone, contrary to how I usually act. Maybe I'm just subconsciously trying to fit in.

I lay on a bench and press one hundred fifty pounds. The Careers look impressed. When I finish, Cato lays down on the bench and presses two hundred. Clove, Glimmer and Marvel hoot and holler, cheering us on. I find it a little weird that we're all training together, encouraging one another. All we're really doing is learning who will kill us, and how they'll do it. It's nothing to cheer about. Cato gets up, delivering the same curious yet taunting look that he gave me the first day of training. I accept his nonverbal challenge. I lay down and press two hundred forty, which presents itself as much more difficult than it looks. My veins pop and my forehead begins to sweat. Maybe I was intended to simply lift flour sacks after all, because now I'm trying to hide that I'm completely winded. For the next few hours, we all conduct basic workout regimens; running laps, push ups, sit-ups, pull-ups and the like. Before we visit any particular area, I make sure Katniss is nowhere to be found. Coincidentally, we always seem to be in a separate place at the right time. Cato is, as always, very adamant and competitive. His physique is already much more up-kept and toned than any of ours, but he seems to insist on out-shining us at every station. I enjoy watching him though, he's still motivating me. I didn't realize how much time had passed, but the dinner bell rings, commanding us all back to our individual floors tonight. I'm not hungry, but I remember that Katniss had asked I meet her at the elevator once the bell sounded. All the Careers walk away without a word of farewell, except Cato, who at least waves.

Once they're all gone, I meet with Katniss at the elevator. We make small talk, discussing what stations we visited rather than who we visited them with. I'm glad she hasn't seen me training with the Careers. I wouldn't want her to feel betrayed. Although they're much more entertaining to be around, I'm not in the alliance for them, but for her benefit. When we finally reach the Penthouse, I skip dinner and head straight to my room. Effie and Haymitch don't question it at all. I fall face-first on the bed as I replay the day in my mind.

I realize that I have no strategy for protecting Katniss.

* * *

**Author's Note: Thank you all SO much for the criticism/praise. It really keeps me inspired to keep editing. I've got up to chapter 5 written, but I find new things all the time to revise and edit. Soon, I've got a plethora of ideas just waiting behind a time barrier to explode onto my paper! (or screen, considering it's the 21st century and all). Thank you and please keep reading!  
-**


	4. Rankings

**Author's Note: Thank you SO much for the kind reviews! They inspire me so much, even a few simple words of criticism or praise can uplift me a ton!  
**

* * *

I see fire surrounding me. I smell the haze of smoke as the rapid flames swallow each loaf of carefully prepared bread, turning them black as coal before disintegrating. The sign that tells passers-by that this is the Mellark's Bakery burns to a bitter ash. The smell of burning flesh nauseates me.

"Peeta!" I hear a voice call to me. I see Katniss, standing weakly in the plumes. I stagger over to her, in my most desparate attempt to save her. "Peeta!"

"Peeta, wake up this instant!" Effie yells, nudging me awake. She's leaning over me, her powder pink curls are hanging limply and her candy purple lips are pursed in annoyance. I lean up, and stretch, trying my best to hide the fear on my face that's manifesting in perspiration. Recognizing that it was simply a nightmare, I reassure myself by identifying every object in the room. I heave a relieved sigh. Maybe I'm just getting used to the fact that Katniss and I will never live like we did before. There's only one victor to the Games, but when one of us dies, it's going to be me. I promise myself that I'll be a corner stone for her victory, whatever the cost. I'm going to be strong and make it through another day.

"Peeta, you really need to start waking yourself up from now on." Effie nags, tapping her foot.

I yawn. "Yeah, I guess."

"The scoring is this afternoon, Peeta, and I need you well rested to perform well." she nags. "Come have breakfast when you're ready."

"Alright."

I don't even bother to take a shower this morning, because I'm just going to get all sweaty while training. Instead, I prepare myself for the day by sitting down to a giant meal of corned beef sandwiches and butternut squash in a sour sauce. The meals here are so creatively designed and prepared, I have to admit, their chef easily dominates my family in the realm of culinary art.

"I'm pretty impressed by you guys." Haymitch says gruffly, biting into a sandwich and tearing it off with his teeth. "Katniss, make sure you show the Gamemakers your archery skills. Peeta, toss some weights around. Paint something maybe. Whatever the case, make sure you guys rank above a seven."

"Aren't we going to go back to the Training Center before?" Katniss asks.

"Only for about an hour. Use that time to warm up." he replies, his mouth stuffed with food.

After we finish the rest of our meal in a frigid silence, Katniss and I board the elevator once more. We both stare down at our feet for a few wordless moments, just unnerving ourselves from the ample pressure of being compared and ranked against the other Tributes.

"Peeta, you're strong. Keep going." She breaks the silence, instructing me in a calm voice that reassures. "Don't let yourself down today."

"Thank you, Katniss." I can't help but smile. This is the kindest thing she's ever said or done since as far back as... Well, as far as my memory spans. I feel a ray of esteem shine down on the darkness of the situation. It's the closest thing to affection I've been given in years. The elevator dings as we walk into the gym, parting the same way we did yesterday, agreeing to meet again here when we're through. I wait until she's out of my sight to scope out the Careers again. As glad as I am that Katniss is noticing me, I must remember my goal: to think of a strategy to protect her.

I find Marvel and Glimmer lifting weights. They must not be sore from yesterday. They barely did anything, but I feel bruised and worn from the exertion. It's so peculiar how Glimmer doesn't even seem to care about the Games, flirting lightheartedly with the other Tributes. Either she really isn't aware of her circumstance, or she's developing a strategy to fool everyone somehow. I wander around the gym, both patrolling for Cato and Clove, and keeping guard against Katniss. Finally, I find Cato oiling his biceps on a wrestling mat. I watch him for a few minutes, wondering who will be the one killing him in the arena. He flexes, shimmering from the oil. I almost pity him for the amount of pride he invests in himself in a time like this. But he taught me how to fight, and was really the only one who made me feel welcome here. I wish I wasn't so sensitive with people, even under a truly insensitive circumstance.

I can't kill him.

Within a few minutes he notices me. His trademark smirk finds its way to his face.

"Hey, I want to wrestle," he says, crossing his arms. "and I need a partner."

"Alright," I say, pulling up my sleeves and accepting his challenge. "Let's do this."

I lubricate myself with the oil before stepping onto the mat. Cato instantly awes me with his strength, our hands interwined as we try to push one another to the floor. I watch his icy blue eyes size me up, his sweat intermingling with oil. Finally, my muscles give way as we topple to the ground. His hot and heavy body is almost suffocating me, and our chests pound against each other. He could kill me like this if he really wanted to. His head is slightly ducked in, and he's breathing heavily on my neck. It feels ticklish, but it'd be too sissy to even wince, let alone laugh. He leans up to face me.

"I win." he says playfully, his eyes pinning me down just as much as the rest of him. It takes me a while to register how weird this must look to anyone around.

"Yeah, I'll give you that." I say.

Almost simultaneously, we look to our right. Glimmer and Clove are standing at the edge of the mat, and just as I thought, critically glaring.

"Guess you found yourself a little target, Cato." Glimmer remarks.

Clove and Glimmer giggle as Cato removes himself from me. I inhale deeply. It feels nice to have my airways open again.

"Stop patronizing me, damn you. I'm not going to kill him." he barks.

"I can wrestle too, you know." She says, wiggling her hips sexily. I realize that Clove's quiet presence seems to serve no purpose but to back Glimmer and her taunts. Cato laughs bitterly.

"No thanks." He says boastfully. "I'd kill you in a much less personal way."

Glimmer returns his bitter laugh. Even though I have no idea what they're joking about, I don't think it's funny at all. How could anyone stare into the face of someone they intend to kill, and laugh? Even worse, how could they both take it so lightheartedly? Maybe it's just an inside joke, I guess I should probably be more open-minded.

Cato pats me on the back. "Good job."

"Thanks, you too." I reply.

Him, Clove and I sit down and watch Marvel and Glimmer wrestle, which proves to be very interesting. Marvel tries his hardest to be respectful and not touch her as much as possible, but she does the opposite, grabbing a handful of his back side whenever she gets the chance. I'm not sure how to react. Clove is hooting and laughing hysterically, but Cato's face is pensive and he watches without a sound. Finally, Marvel stops being merciful and pins her down, ending the awkward match.

"Glimmer, you're such a skank!" Clove teases.

Glimmer laughs, undaunted by the hurtful word.

"Yeah, she could kill someone by grabbing their ass enough if she wanted." Marvel says. Clove laughs, and for some reason I do as well, but Cato remains eerily silent.

Before anyone can question why, the intercom releases static, which precedes the order to attend to the Gamemaker's chambers for the scoring.

"District One goes first. Guess I'm off to show them _my_ strengths." Glimmer says, heading toward the exit. "See you, boys."

"Don't grope the Gamemakers!" Marvel teases, walking beside her.

Cato nudges me in the arm. "Hey, good luck."

"You too." I wait until he and Clove begin walking away to the elevator and wait for Katniss. When we meet, we walk into the same door the Careers previously entered. She and I sit down together in the private chamber reserved for District 12.

"Ready?" She asks, staring straight ahead.

"No, but it doesn't change the fact it's going to happen. Are you?" I ask.

Her face is blank. "I guess."

We sit in silence for what seems like hours. It's difficult to believe that this melancholy girl is the same one that called me strong earlier and made my whole day.

"Peeta Mellark." The voice over the intercom finally calls my name. I enter the room and straighten my posture.

"Peeta Mellark, District 12." I introduce myself in a mechanical voice, almost mimicking the intercom. The Gamemakers sit on the stage, preparing a bountiful feast, which if you ask me, is timed inappropriately. They watch intently as I move to the left side of the room with the weight rack. Wooden dummies sit at the opposing wall, and I spark an idea. I slowly unrack the two-hundred pound ball weight, and hurl it full speed across the room, breaking the wooden dummy into a series of planks. I nod courteously and leave as they whisper among themselves, scratching things down in notepads.

As I am leaving, Katniss enters. I whisper "good luck" in passing, although I don't think she hears me. I walk out of the chamber and back into the Training Pavilion. It's vacant, dark, and a bit creepy, so I decide to wait for Katniss back in the Penthouse. There's a single light above the elevator, so I let it guide me as I run full speed to it. I've always been afraid of quiet darkness. When the doors ding and roll open, I see a much brighter, populated and bubbly room. Sighing in relief, I see that Cinna is visiting our floor. He really is so much more involved and engaged in his work than Portia is, taking time to know the person he's designing costumes for. He, Effie and Haymitch are seated on the shapy, asymetrical chairs in front of a large television screen.

"When Katniss comes up here, we'll be able to see your scores!" Effie squeaks, a bit too cheery for the occasion.

I take a seat on the couch. The doors of the elevator reopen in a matter of seconds, revealing Katniss who looks flushed and scared.

"What'd you show 'em, sweetheart?" Haymitch asks her.

"I...shot the apple out of their roast pig's mouth."

We remain bewildered at her boldness as she explains her story. Apparently, the Gamemakers did not pay attention to her after she missed a single arrow, so she shot their apple, sarcastically thanking them for their attention. Haymitch chuckles. Effie's eyes double in size. "

You what! Katniss, do you understand how bad this makes us look!"

Before she has the chance to answer, the live coverage of the Games that presents the scores begins. Caesar Flickerman, televised host of the Games, introduces the program with his theatrical voice, explaining the scoring practice. When they begin to scroll through the Tributes in order of District, I see that Cato has received a score of 10. I guess it's well-deserved. I can't help but feel a slight bit threatened and dominated by him, even though he is expressing mercy by being so kind. I feel like there's something he's hiding, like he's scheming a strategic approach to kill me. But I'm honestly not very afraid of succumbing to his respect, because it's not like I'll return a victor. Besides, in Games past, everyone seems to target the cocky and rude Tributes first. If nothing else, I'll prolong my life for a few days.

Before I know it, Caesar calls my name. Effie, Cinna and Haymitch are engrossed, hanging on every sound and image on the screen.

"Peeta Mellark, with a score of 8" he says proudly.

Cinna and my mentors congratulate me quickly before returning their attention to oh-so-capable Katniss. We retreat to silence for her name to be called.

"And finally, Katniss Everdeen, with a score of..." Caesar pauses, his eyebrows raised. "... Eleven."

Even though I'm really not feeling it, we immediately break into celebration and surround the victor-to-be. I'm undeniably jealous, but it doesn't stop me from wanting to protect her. I admire her so deeply, that sometimes I begin to wonder if that's all my feelings truly consist of. Admiration.

Later in my room, I stare out the window, replaying the events of the day. I'm probably the last one awake on this floor, sighing in relief that the day is finally done. A stray hair falls into my eye, so I push it back onto my head, running my fingers through the rest of it. They run down the back of my head until they reach my neck. I remember wrestling, and as much as I don't want to admit it, I remember how good it felt to be tickled by breathing on my neck. Maybe it's because I've never experienced physical affection of any sort. I've never even had my first kiss. I've been turned down by every girl I've ever asked out. But obviously, Cato's a guy, and I'm sure he meant nothing by breathing on my neck. Or by lingering on top of me. But, it felt really good to feel someone else, anyone else, so close to me. I shut these thoughts out of my mind, concluding that wrestling is simply a very intimate sport. Katniss once again creeps into my mind. The wave of rejection and hopelessness of our situation crashes over me, twisting in my belly. Now that it'll be near impossible to sleep tonight, I decide to explore the Tribute Tower. It'll probably be both the first and last time I get to see it. Stealthily, I open the door of my room, sneaking down the hall to the elevator. My footsteps are a bit too loud, but no one wakes up indignant because of it. Once I am inside the glass tube, I stare at the rows of buttons on the wall. Which one to press? I'm not into visiting the other Tributes' rooms. I decide to visit the floor above the Penthouse, which what I've been told is the observatory room that overlooks the entire Capitol skyline. I press the "OBSRV" button, and the city begins to shrink below my feet.


	5. The Catalyst

When the elevator door opens in middle of the room, I look around in awe. This is the most beautiful room I've seen in the Capitol yet, and not because it's painted some fluorescent color or decorated with abstract designs. All four walls are made of sheer glass, and two silver chairs sit in front of one. The moon and city lights give the room a silvery glow as I look all around me, able to see the entire Capitol skyline. The faint sound of cars and footsteps can be heard underneath, but for the most part this room is dead silent. I sit in a silver chair, heaving a sigh. What a perfect place this is to just sit and think, if only I could keep up pace with my racing mind. My eyes absorb the aesthetic view, because they know this will be the last time they'll see anything like it.

The elevator dings, piercing the silence. Broken from my passive calm, I whip my head around to see who's come up to find me. The doors open and reveal Cato, who seems just as startled as me.

"Damn," he says, walking inside. "What are you doing up here so late?"

"Just thinking." I say, looking back outside the window.

He pulls a box of cigarettes and a match from his pocket. "Thought you were a mentor and hid them. Want a smoke?"

"I've never smoked before." In fact, I've never even seen a cigarette before. Back in District Twelve, no one could afford to have luxuries or bad habits. But I figure if I'm going to die in a few days, I don't see a reason not to, so I accept.

Cato sighs. "You better not tell anyone about this." He strikes the match against the side of the box and lights the small, white tube and hands it to me.

"I swear I won't." I reply, taking the cigarette and inhaling deeply. It burns in my throat, causing me to cough incessantly.

He lights his own, and laughs. "Don't breathe it in so much." He demonstrates, exhaling a cloud of strong-smelling smoke. Even though I know he's only eighteen, he looks like a man with a cigarette pressed to his lips. "Do it like that."

I try again and finally succeed. I'm glad I learned how to do it properly. "Wow," I say, surprised at how good it feels. "I actually thought I was going to die for a second there."

"Yeah, it was like that the first time I had one too." he says. "They hand them out like candy in Two."

"Well you're lucky, because we can't afford crap in my District." I say.

It's really very weird to see Cato outside of training. Standing here in our nightclothes, smoking like chimneys makes me realize that as a person, he's not scary or monstrous at all.

"Well, neither of us could buy our way out of this." He says bitterly, inhaling from his cigarette again.

"I thought you and the Careers were just going to kill everyone anyway." I say, not realizing it's a very bold statement until it's too late.

Cato shrugs. "You can count your blessings, because I wasn't planning on killing you." he says.

"Why not?" I ask, questioning whether he's serious or not. I didn't even think about how stupid it sounded until after I said it.

He looks directly at me, ignoring the ineptitude of my comment. His eyes are solemn. "You're the only person I can even call a friend here. And trust me, I haven't had many."

His response almost seems too good to be true. Here he is, easily the strongest Tribute, and he considers me a friend and decides to spare me. "So even in the heat of the Games, you're not going to hesitate to kill me?" I ask, still in disbelief.

"I told you I'm not. I don't care what the Capitol throws at me, or what they want Panem to learn from it. I'm not killing you or the other Careers. I'll take out anyone else, but I can't kill a friend."

"Neither can I." I say, looking out the window. I'm still confused about his motive, but with the hours of my life draining like sand in an hourglass, I decide not to over contemplate. Cato smiles kindly, a look I never would expect to see on his face. "So is this a truce?" I ask.

"Yeah." he says, rubbing out the glowing cigarette on his pants. "But you'd better get to bed. We've got interviews tomorrow."

I agree, imitating his method of burning out the smoke on my own clothes. I get up to leave, but I notice that he doesn't follow. "Aren't you going to bed too?" I ask.

He keeps staring out the window. "I'm not tired."

I decide it's best not to interrogate, so I proceed to the elevator and leave Cato in the room. I grit my teeth and wince as the elevator dings, crossing my fingers that it won't wake anyone up. Quickly, I scamper down the hall and into my room, laying on my bed. The cigarette's completely sedated me and I fall immediately into a dreamless, tranquil slumber.

* * *

But I definitely don't want to get up. Caesar Flickerman will be interviewing us today, which means that until we walk on stage, we'll be in the salon, getting plucked, waxed and edited until we meet the Capitol standard of beauty. Honestly, I think the way they genetically alter everything is vile. One of the women in Katniss' prep team seems to have dyed her skin a putrid green. If a girl in Twelve were to dye anything on her body, nobody at all would find it beautiful. I wrap myself in a brown bathrobe and begin walking down the hall to breakfast.

"Good morning, Peeta!" Effie chirps.

"Morning." I stretch, then take a seat next to Katniss. "How did the Girl on Fire sleep?"

She gives me a sharp, uneasy glare. "Just fine."

I chuckle to lighten the mood. "I slept pretty well too. A lot better than last night."

No response. She stares down into her food, then back at me, as if I'm disgusting her so much as to curb her appetite. I can tell something's wrong. Every question I continue to ask her is answered with a short, obligated response. I'm not even sure why I'm still trying to win her kindness. Maybe Haymitch has told her everything about Cato and the Careers, and she feels betrayed. I certainly hope that isn't the case, because Haymitch has a very blunt, insensitive way of explaining things. He'd have definitely left out the part that I did it all for her. When breakfast is finished, we immediately visit the salon, where Portia, Cinna and Katniss' prep team are oogling over what new design or clothes we should wear for our interviews. I roll my eyes. If I've only got a few more hours to my life, it's not going to matter if I look like a movie star, or if I just look like myself. Nevertheless, Katniss and I are escorted down separate corridors with our prep teams as we visit different rooms for different cosmetic procedures for the next few hours. I'd have to say the most uncomfortable is having Dima wax my underarms once again. Not only does it hurt like hell, but she says almost nothing to distract me from the pain, keeping her pierced eyebrows narrowed to concentrate. I can see a lot more benefit to having that hair than not, because I'll need probably need any added warmth I can get in the arena. I count my blessings that she's not waxing anything else. Finally, she refers me to Utopia, who will dress me in Cinna's personal design. I've always respected Cinna. He's professional, compassionate, and Katniss seems to really appreciate him from what I've heard her tell Effie and Haymitch.

I wonder what they've done to Cato. It's not like they could really improve much. He's got the ardent stature of a mythical Greek god. Clean-cut blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and a natural gold complexion. I'm not sure if I'm jealous or adoring, but it's difficult not to be a little envious when you're on the heftier side and white as a ghost. Utopia leads me to a full-length mirror.

"Peeta, it's fantastic!" she squeals, her hands cupped to her cheeks.

"Yeah, it looks nice." I say, forcing just a little bit of enthusiasm into my voice.

"I'm going to go get Portia." she bubbles, scampering away. "Don't move!"

The aftermath of their creation looks modern and basic. My hair is slicked back with a few strands casually falling over my forehead, and I am dressed in a basic tuxedo with an orange and red tie. I can't believe it took them near six hours to do this. After the women are done adoring their work, I walk out of the salon and onto the sidewalk, ready to greet the cameras. Oddly enough, Haymitch is waiting eagerly, his hands in his pockets.

"Hey." I say, acknowledging him.

"Oh, you look nice." he says. "But I want to talk with you about the interviews."

"Alright?"

We sit down on a chrome bench sitting beside the salon building, feeling the chilly September wind brush our shoulders. Haymitch coughs. "You've got a way with words, Peeta."

I pause. Where is he going with this? "Thank you, I guess."

"Since the Capitol likes, well, scandals, and you need sponsors to stay alive, I want you to convince them you're more than just a Tribute." says Haymitch.

"...Okay." I'm still confused.

He inhales deeply. "I want you to tell them you love Katniss. Tell them she's the only girl you've ever loved, or something sappy like that. You'll make the both of you look desirable."

"It'd definitely be the truth," I admit, hesitantly. "But it'd piss her off. And it'd be an unhinging thing to say on public television."

"It might, but it'll be best for you guys in the long run. Besides, you'll be plenty unhinged in the arena. Might as well face it early on."

There's a long pause between us. After the way she's treated me all this time, this public declaration might even make her mad enough to kill me if she doesn't return the feelings. But, who knows. The strongest Tribute's already vowed not to bust my head, so anything is really a possibility now. Besides, if my life is virtually over, now is the time to start taking chances.

"Alright." I agree.

Haymitch smiles, with only a single corner of his mouth turned upwards. "Well, I'll show you where you're going to sit until you're called up to do your interview."

We walk back to the Tribute Tower, right to the main floor. He leads me to an auditorium with a showy stage, cameras and angled, fluorescent lights. All twenty four Tributes sit, separated by District in the folding chairs backstage. Katniss is already seated, looking absolutely lovely. She is wearing a sleek red dress and her hair is tied in a princess-like updo. I've never seen her look so regal and beautiful before in my life, and it makes me proud to publically announce my affection. She seems very intimidated by the stage, but I've never minded the spotlight. I look over at the others, my eyes falling immediately on Cato. His hair is gelled to spike up, and he is dressed in a tuxedo and a black leather blazer. It looks striking, but I still don't know why they took so long to "beautify" us. Soon, Caesar Flickerman walks onto the stage, wearing his signature starry, blue tuxedo. He opens the show as the auditorium quickly swells with spectators. Each of us as given three minutes per interview, which means I will need to make a good impression and follow Haymitch's advice to the core. I zone out a bit through the first interviews. I'm distracted by preparing my big revelation. When it's time for Cato's interview, however, I listen intently. Caesar asks him the basic questions, how he enjoys the Capitol and such. He sounds energetic and fierce, almost antagonistic of the cool and collected smoker in the observatory room. When Caesar asks if he has a special girl back home, the crowd goes silent in anticipation.

"I...guess I'm quite the ladies' man." He says, shakily but still confident.

"Well that seems obvious. You're very attractive." says Caesar. "But I'm sure every girl will want you more if you return home a victor."

"Yeah, I guess."

As strong and, I'll admit it, attractive as Cato is, I bet every girl in Two is hanging all over him. I narrow my feelings down to jealousy. Guys like him are exactly what I have to compete with in the love field. Before I know it, Katniss' name is called for her interview. She is nervous, you can tell by her delayed speech. She regains confidence when she and Caesar begin to discuss the flames on her parade costume. She says she's already wearing them, and asks if the audience would like to see. Then, like a beautiful dancer she twirls about the stage, false flames emitting from the base of her dress. The audience screams and hollers in praise of Cinna's creation. Finally it is time for my interview. I'm the last one. I walk up to the stage nervously, taking a seat next to Caesar. His aging face forces a toothy, fabricated grin.

"Well, Peeta, it's nice to meet you." He says, shaking my hand.

"My pleasure."

He crosses his legs casually. "How are you enjoying your stay at the Capitol?"

"Well," I try to think of something witty. "The showers are weird."

He grins. "They are?"

"Tell me, do I smell like roses?" The crowd laughs as Caesar pretends to sniff me. I return the gesture.

"Okay, you smell fine." I laugh.

A few jokes later, Caesar asks if I have a special girl back home. I remember Haymitch's advice. "Well, there is one girl I've had a crush on since I was little, but I don't think she noticed me until the Reaping."

The crowd makes coos of sympathy. "That's a shame. Well, if you win, I guarantee that girl will want you." Says Caesar.

"I don't think winning will help me much."

"Why not?"

The crowd pauses. I take advantage of the silence to interject something blunt. "Because she came here with me."

The crowd turns into an uproar, screaming my name. I feel the high of adrenaline again, being recognized in the spotlight. It feels so good. As I walk backstage, I'm ambushed by Katniss, who pins me against the wall and begins violently shaking my shoulders.

"So first you want to train alone, then you make me look weak?" She continues shouting at me, as Haymitch and Effie force her off of me.

"I-I'm sorry!" I yell back.

"I'm dating Gale, damn you! How will he take this when he watches it on TV tonight?" She hisses. Haymitch finally pulls her away, yelling something that I don't even comprehend. I immediately walk away. I don't listen to what they tell her. I don't even care where I'm walking. She's dating Gale. I should have known it all along. My throat goes dry and I can hear my heart pound in anguish of the bout of depression I'm about to endure. Hell, I wouldn't even be exaggerating if I said I'd carry it until I die. I just want to crawl in a hole, because not only is my heart crushed, but I've made a fool of myself in front of the entire country as well. I decide to board the elevator, but which button to press? I'm not into visiting the other Tributes' rooms. I decide to visit the observatory again to face, in solitude, whatever rage my emotions want to run. When the doors roll open, I walk over to a cushioned chair, sigh and plop down. I immediately burst into tears. When I enter the arena, I'll be visible to all of Panem. It's best to get all my emotions out right now. As my tempest of tears recedes, I open my eyes and look outside. I see a blurred sea of pink and orange, the sun setting behind the mountains. I wonder if this is the last sunset I'll ever see.

I'm still letting the last of my tears trickle out when the elevator dings again. I assume it's Haymitch, coming to talk to me about the fiasco he's caused. Still, I don't want to be seen crying. I simply avoid staring at the elevator and keep my head turned. I can't help but sniffle a little as footsteps approach my chair.

"Hey, Loverboy."

I try even harder not to let my face show, deepening the tone of my voice. "Hey Cato."

"I saw what happened out there."

"I wish you didn't." I reply, speaking my mind.

He sits down next to me. I bury my head in my hands, averting him from my swollen red eyes.

"Want another cig?" he asks. I could definitely use one. His offer causes me to look up and face him. Cato is smirking and crossing his arms, still wearing his leather blazer, which doesn't look near as expensive and flamboyant up close. He takes the small box out of his pocket and lights one for me. There are only two that still remain afterwards. I take it, inhaling the sweet nicotine. He lights another for himself, and we watch the sun sink below the horizon.

"Thank you, it's exactly what I needed." I say.

"I'm clever, huh?" he chuckles arrogantly. "Clever enough to figure out your confession didn't set well with Katniss."

I feel tears well up in my eyes again. "No, it really didn't. I guess she's dating someone else."

"That sucks." He exhales a large cloud of smoke a bit too close to the window, fogging it up. "You really loved her, huh?"

"Yeah," I say, looking down. A silent tear streams down my cheek. "But I don't know if I could call it love. The only time I've ever gotten her attention is when I threw her a loaf of bread when we were younger. She was starving, sitting against a tree in the rain. My mom saw and got really mad and kicked my ass."

Cato stays oddly silent, staring out the window in a deep thought. I exhale my puff of smoke, wondering if Haymitch and Effie are looking for me.

"That's all she did?" he asks. "Your mom, I mean."

"Um, yeah, she beat me up quite a few times. In fact, before the Games, she told me that District Twelve would have a victor this year. She wasn't talking about me." I continue. "It's just by some sick circumstance that Katniss volunteered. And that I was chosen along with her."

"That's not how it works in Two." says Cato, pensively. "We all volunteer."

"You volunteered to come here?" I ask, bewildered at how someone could chose this for an early fate.

"It's what everyone does. I'd have done anything to get away from that place."

My rational mind tells me not to probe, but curiosity wins out, and I do it anyway. "Why was it so bad?"

Cato looks me straight in the eye, setting his cigarette on his lap. "Well, if I'm gonna tell you, I might as well do it while Panem isn't watching."

"Alright."

"My brother Oslo died two years ago in the Games. I wish my mom just beat the shit out of me instead of what she did to us." he says, the anger in his voice escalating.

"W-what did she do?" I ask.

"She raped us. All fucking week, while my dad went to mine at the Nut. After Oslo died, it was just me and her. And I couldn't take it."

I stare straight ahead, trying to make sense of this. Cato? Raped? It just doesn't match up to the strong boy I saw riding in the chariot, scaring the hell out of everyone in the Training Center. "Why would she do that?"

"The bitch was a whack job, she'd always slap me around every time I brought it up. I never understood it."

"But you're physically strong, couldn't you overpower her?"I ask.

"She'd blackmail me. She'd threaten to tell my dad that I assaulted her, then I'd really be in for it." he says, burying his face in his hands vulnerably. "I was glad to come here, Loverboy. If I came home a victor, she'd see my potential and fuck off. If I got killed, at least I'd get away from that."

I try to take all of this in. I can't believe he's actually disclosing this to me in such a short time, but I guess being at the end of the rope really can push someone to take chances.

"Well, I'm not going to kill you. I promise." I say, trying my hardest to be reassuring. I have no idea how to respond, and this is the best thing I can muster up.

"I'm not going to kill you, either. It just sucks that there can only be one victor."

We both pause, trying hard as possible to evade the evident fact that one of us is going to die, be it at the hands of each other or someone else. Then there's Katniss, who probably wouldn't have a problem killing either of us.

"I've got no one to go home for." I say, grimly. "I take it you don't either."

"I've never loved a woman. They're all disgusting, especially Glimmer. I might even be able to kill the bitch."

Unfortunately, I don't object, because I probably could too. I reflect over the way she acts, knowing it must remind Cato painfully of his mother.

"I'll just let Katniss kill me." he says, almost sarcastically. But something tells me he's a slight bit serious.

"No." I say, firmly. "I don't care what the Capitol wants. I'm not going to be a piece in their Games, and you two won't either."

"What do you mean?" he asks.

I pause. What_ do_ I mean? It's not like all three of us can come out of this. I've only known the guy for a matter of days, but he's already a better friend than anyone in Twelve besides Delly. I can't just let him die. "...I don't know."

He sighs, getting up and burning out his cigarette on his pants again. By now, the sky is a dark blue, and the horizon has been dotted with multicolor city lights. "Whatever happens, happens I guess. All I know is we've got a truce. I won't kill the girl if it makes you happy." he says.

"Thank you." I heave a relieved sigh.

"But when we get in the arena tomorrow morning, run into the woods. I'll come find you. Just find someplace to hide and we can figure out this fucked up world when we get to it."

"Will you bring the rest of the Careers?" I ask.

"Probably. But don't worry. You won't die. But I'm going to bed, I'll see you tomorrow, Loverboy." He says the last part almost sarcastically.

"Good night." I say, as he boards the elevator and descends.

It's so much to take in. I can't believe that someone strong like Cato could be dominated at all, by anyone or anything else. All of this feels so surreal. I never expected to make a friend here. The circumstances were unfitting, and it didn't seem like there was enough time to come to know anyone. I still can't believe that Katniss and Gale are actually together. It definitely clarifies what they spent all that time in the woods doing, but I avert that thought away from my mind. I wish I could move on, but there's nothing to move on to. Suddenly, the ding of the elevator sounds. I brace myself for Effie or Haymitch to walk inside and detect the smell of secondhand smoke. My mind fumbles, trying to think of a good excuse. But instead of my mentors, the doors open and Katniss walks calmly over to me.

"Hey." She says, her voice much quieter than Cato's.

"Hey." I'm determined to act as friendly as possible to her, letting my soft spot for her preside.

"Can't sleep?"

"Yeah," I say, gazing out the window. "I can't believe the Games start tomorrow." We silently stare at the crescent moon hovering the vast metropolitan area, contemplating our fates. I'm finding it so hard not to tell her about Cato. It's burning at the tip of my tongue, becoming harder and harder to conceal as things happen and time goes on.

"Listen," she says. "I'm sorry about the outburst."

"It's fine." I lie.

"Peeta," she says. "You know I love Gale."

Once again, my body breaks into a cold sweat at the harsh truth. Why does she need to keep reminding me?

"Yeah." I say, trying to appear relaxed. "I do."

"But hey, thanks anyway. We'll get lots of sponsors for the act." She smiles to try and reassure me. "Let's go back to the Penthouse. Haymitch and Effie are already asleep, so we can both get a good night's rest."

Without a word, we board the elevator and descend a single story. We say goodnight and retreat to our rooms. I lie facedown in my bed and begin to replay today in my mental camera. I don't wait either Katniss or Cato to die, because I really do care about both of them now. Cato is my only friend at this point, and how much of a friend can he be under our circumstance? I pity him so deeply, because even visualizing what he's been through makes my stomach churn until I'm nauseous. Katniss loves Gale. And Gale loves her. I still can't seem to accept that. Before I can assert myself, I'm caught in the weather of another emotional breakdown. I'm so confused, and I feel ripped in half. Between heaving sobs, I question myself. How can I help Cato? How do I treat Katniss now? The Games begin tomorrow and it's inevitable. I don't want to die, but there seems to be no way out of it. The Girl on Fire has burned a hole in my heart, a hole that there is no one else left to fill.


	6. Let The Games Begin

Ugh. My head is throbbing, and my swollen eyes refuse to open. I guess crying all night has its pitfalls. I sit up on my bed, hugging my knees to my chest. Today's the day. It's finally here, and there's no alluding it. Today, a handful of innocent teenagers are going to drop dead for the Capitol's amusement. And I might end up one of them. A selfish part of me wishes I could just stay in this room, lock myself in and just refuse to get up. But before I can even consider the idea, the door flies open. Effie waddles over to me in her skyscraper-high heels, but instead of pestering me until I leave my bed, she throws her arms around me and pulls me into a tight embrace.

"Oh, Peeta!" she says, compassionately. "You must be heartbroken! Katniss is already spoken for!"

"Heartbroken to say the least." I say, wrapping my arms around her kindly.

She pulls away, her watery eyes meeting mine. Haymitch has entered the room, standing at somewhat of a distance. I'm sort of resenting him for putting me through this, but I try to forgive him, because soon it won't really matter. I feel like a child who's just woken up from a petrifying nightmare, being consoled by both parents. I absorb all the affection and savor the moment, because I'll never know another one like it. My nostrils burn and a dull pain pierces through my temple, but I've already used up all my tears from last night. Haymitch tentatively stumbles over to my bedside.

"I've got faith in you, kid." says Haymitch, patting my back. "You're gonna get a lot of sponsors."

"Thanks, but where's Katniss?" I ask.

"She's taking a bath, so I wouldn't worry about her coming in. We've already given her our condolences." says Effie.

"I've got to protect her," I say. Some of my concerns just seem to have slept in, only to pop up in my mind shortly after my it begins functioning for the day. "I have to lead those Careers away from wherever she is."

"Cross that bridge when you get there." says Haymitch, as Effie wraps the brown bathrobe around my shoulders. "But remember, stay alive. First, find food and water. Then, you hide."

I remember Cato's instructions to run into the woods and wait for him. Maybe he'll bring me those necessities. But I have no idea where to find anything yet. The only sense of direction I can rely on is a fuzzy picture of the arena I've illustrated in my mind, and the only thing I know exists in there is woods. That's all they've told me so far.

"We need you to get ready though, Peeta." says Effie, collecting herself back from emotion, and prompting me off of the bed. "Rain or shine, the Games start in two hours."

I stand up, feeling weaker than ever before. Haymitch and Effie slip out of the room, so I proceed to the shower. My jokes about it during my interview were really stupid. Even though the audience laughed, all of Panem is probably pitying me, thinking I'm some lovesick fool that can't operate a simple appliance. I know how to turn on the hot water, which is all I really need anyway. I let it encase me, wishing I could just wear its warmth as a coat through all the cold nights I forecast in the arena. I realize that under all of the frills and ruffles, make-up and wigs, Effie has a very motherly aspect about her. She's never said anything about her past as a mentor, or any other Tributes she might have grown fond of before Katniss and I. It's definitely something to ponder, but I really don't have much room for any other thoughts with everything else that's already occupying my mind. I turn off the water and pat myself dry with a plump fluffy towel, wrapping it around my waist. When I walk back into my quarter, I see that someone's laid out an outfit on my bed. Cargo pants, a simple black shirt made of thin material, thick socks and fair-traction boots. Is this what I'll be wearing in the Games? Whoever put it here must have assigned it to me, so I conclude this case by putting it on. It's warm and durable, but I know it will be inadaquete for the arena. I wonder what Katniss and Cato were given to wear, and I can only pray it's more supportive and insulated than this.

Haymitch and Effie are eating a breakfast of grilled salmon, sunny-side up eggs and orange juice. The grim and hopeless shadow hangs drearily over the room, causing a side effect of silence and long faces. Even Katniss looks discombobulated, which is in some way refreshing because I can tell she's still capable of emotion.

Cutting her food into pieces, Effie breaks the silence. "You two were a pleasure to mentor."

The words strike me in the heart, giving me a much-needed sense of self-worth. "...Thank you Effie."

"Yeah," Haymitch says, his mouth stuffed with food. "See you 'round, kid."

It takes me a minute to realize that he's talking solely to Katniss. Does he doubt I'll survive? Of course he does. He probably ranks me equal to the weak twelve-year olds who die in the initial bloodbath. And here I was, completely ready to forgive him when he and Effie were in my room. Bitterness washes over me as we eat the rest of our food in a pensive silence. It makes my body ache for the family table back home. Even though the people in my household didn't care much for each other, at least we'd fill the air with light-hearted small talk. It feels like I'm slowly dying as it is, losing touch of each small pleasure little by little. At least it's making me grateful for what I once had. After we've finished, our mentors silently escort us to the elevator. Katniss stares back at the Penthouse for as long as it's in view, just hanging onto her last memories of luxury as we ascend. I can't help but feel for her, but I find myself wanting to keep my distance from her. She's easily irritated and sort of rude, and I'm beginning to numb myself to the fact she's dating Gale. But I'm not going to break my promise to stay strong for her. The elevator opens at the roof of the Tribute tower, letting in an algid blast of wind, mingled with raindrops. The sky is overcast, with grey, fluffy clouds serving as a background to the gigantic dirigible hovering directly above us. A ladder dips down to our level, implying we must climb it into the aircraft.

Effie and Haymitch throw their arms around us both, almost replicating this morning's episode. Effie's eyes fill with tears as she pulls us both in closer. I feel a motherly love completely foreign to me. My eyes begin to moisten as well. Katniss and I embrace them both deeply, the only sound being the beat of our mourning hearts. Finally, we depart from each other, not breaking eye contact with them as Katniss and I walk toward the ladder. As much as our mentors lacked in some areas, I realize they aren't perfect. Even if Haymitch does doubt me, he has a right to. I guess I'll always have a parental essence surrounding their memory. We climb up the steel ladder, grasping the rungs tightly as possible. I squeeze my eyes shut to avoid looking down as it pulls us up into the hovercraft. Once we're inside, I peer around. The other twenty-two Tributes are sitting, uniform in the same clothes as mine, strapped to steel chairs. I find the Careers close to the far end of rows. Clove is staring down at her feet, the freckles on her face prominent against her pale skin. She looks as though she's severely nauseated. Glimmer is even solemn and alert, peering around nervously at the faces of the others. Marvel's elbow is propped up on the arm rest of his chair, his face resting in his palm. Perhaps the reality of the gruesome situation finally sunk into them. Cato, however, is staring straight at me, his eyes filled with determination and strength. I feel a bit consoled as Katniss and I sit down and are strapped in by a blue-skinned woman in a white coat.

"Attention, Tributes," she says in a monotone voice. "We are about to install your camera trackers. Please keep calm and be relaxed, otherwise the process will be very painful. There's also a prepared breakfast for those who would like some."

The woman disappears through a heavy steel door. After it slams shut, nobody makes a peep. There's so much silence today, because there's really nothing anyone can say to make the dark circumstance any lighter. I make eye contact with Cato from across the small room. Soon, we're both sadly smiling at one another, holding each others' gaze for about a minute. The woman returns to us with an immense needle and sanitation wipes. Every face in the room flushes as she grabs the forearm of the small boy from District Four and injects a camera tracker deep under the surface of his skin. The boy winces, trying as hard as he can not to whimper. The woman removes the needle, sanitizes it, and moves down the line. Soon, she reaches Cato, who willingly submits his arm. I'm amazed as he doesn't flinch in the slightest as the chip is pushed into his veins. When it's my turn, I look at both Cato and Katniss. Their faces are sympathetic, anticipating my reaction to the pain. I remember my promise, and bravely give the woman my arm. A raw, stinging pain shoots from my fingertips to my diaphragm, centering itself at the site of injection. When the torture is done, I try to immune myself from the lingering throbbing, knowing that I'll suffer much worse in hours yet to come. About fifteen minutes later, the hovercraft lands on the roof of an unfamiliar cylinder building, twenty-four elevator pods lined up along its circumference. On each elevator reads a number, representing two Tributes of each District. An Avox fumbles around, attempting to non verbally herd us into our proper places. I'm directed into one of the two "Twelve" elevators, and I descend down at an even greater speed than the one in the Tribute Tower. When it opens, I find myself in a dark, grey room without windows. The only things in here are another elevator on the corresponding wall, two wooden chairs and Portia sitting in one of them, holding a bag.

"Good morning, Peeta." She says, sweetly but bereaved.

"Morning, Portia." I return.

She motions for me to have a seat, pulling a hairbrush from her bag and slowly stroking my hair with it, as if to imprint the feeling of brushing it into her memory.

"Did you get enough to eat?" She asks.

"Yes, I did."

She continues stroking my hair and sighs deeply. "You're a great boy, Peeta. We really enjoyed being your stylists."

"Thanks." I respond. I would be flattered by her words if they didn't sound so halfhearted and dry, but every expression of kindness at least makes the internal strife I feel a bit easier. The automatic voice from the Training Pavilion sounds over an intercom above, reminding us that we have thirty seconds in this room before the Games begin.

"Well," Portia says, fluffing up my hair for the last time. "It was very nice meeting you."

"You too."

We shake hands, and she directs me into the other elevator, which will lift me into the arena. I enter, feeling the first pang of anxiety from being closed in this small space. The lights in the room flash off immediately, surrounding me with pitch black as I feel the ground rise beneath me. Fear evades me and my chest pounds rapidly as the elevator propels me up into the arena. The light of the sky blinds me, but I eventually adjust my eyes and survey my surroundings; a dense, green forest behind me, a clear lake to my left. All twenty-four Tributes are standing on metal plates arranged in a circle around a gold Cornucopia-like structure, which is stocked with supplies and weaponry. A timer attached to the top of it begins descending its glowing red numbers down from sixty, as the robotic voice counts down along with them. I look at Katniss. Her eyes are fixated on a bow and arrow set at the mouth of the Cornucopia. When she finally sees me, I shake my head, warning her not to try for them. I can't let her die, even if she does have Gale to return home to. But actually being in the arena makes my self-sacrificial plans easier said than done. I am trembling in fear, as there are only forty seconds left. I look at Cato, who nods his head in the direction of the woods, apprehensiveness flashing across his face. I nod in response, preparing to run as soon as I'm able to. Twenty seconds left. I look around the circle of Tributes. The younger, smaller ones are trembling, their eyes darting around the arena. I feel compassion for them, because I can tell they've never had a single intention of killing anyone before now.

The gong sounds, and all of us frantically scatter. At a colossal speed, my feet barrel towards the woods. I don't even look back. I run until there is no human being in my sight. Unfortunately, I'm not exactly obfuscated from view. Since I have nothing to hide myself with, I try my hardest to climb a lofty tree. I'm pretty proud of myself, because back at home I had no skill to coordinate myself up a trunk. I hated heights and still do, but before I know it, I'm at least thirty feet above ground. I rest on a thick and sturdy branch, listening intently to the sounds of the forest. The mockingjays sing a melodious tune, contrasting almost sarcastically with the awful sounds I hear from the Cornucopia. Screams of panic and pain, of terror and torture echo in my mind long after they've been silenced. The low vibration of the canon sounds to represent each dead Tribute. One, two, three... I count them, because it's impossible to think of anything else. It's a haunting nightmare I wish I could simply fly away from. My stomach begins to growl, but I'm too sickened from the slight smell of blood in the air to even think about food. I'm so far away from the conviviality of the Capitol now. I never hungered there. And I'm even further away from my familiar homespun bakery and family, which would never be the same, even if I were to return at this moment. I squeeze my eyes shut, counting more canon booms. I just wish Cato would get here. Soon, the shrieks of death begin to trickle off, and the sky overhead begins to glow dimly like hot coals, indicating nightfall. The Gamemakers who control the arena must madly exaggerate the environment, because I know it's about noon in the rest of Panem. The twilit sky doesn't look near as beautiful as what I've seen in the Capitol. It's a dark, monochromatic orange that for some reason scares the hell out of me. The cold bloody air tickles my nose, causing the sounds of the bloodbath to ring in my mind once more. It causes my breakfast rise up through my throat, but I swallow, trying to keep it down. The last thing I need at this point is to lose any strength or energy.

"Hey Loverboy!" I hear Marvel call from the base of the tree. I'm glad I swallowed my contents now. I hesitantly look down at the ground below. Clove, Cato, Glimmer and Marvel are standing at the base of the tree, undaunted from the murderous excursion.

"Hey!" I shout back. If the Careers weren't so feared and left alone in the arena, we'd all be dead from being so loud. "I'm coming!"

I have so little experience with trees that the idea of scaling down one petrifies me. But the last thing I want is to look weak, so I suck it up and strategically maneuver my footing down each branch. When I reach the bottom without injury, my head swells with esteem.

"Come on," Cato says, nudging me along. "We're all setting up camp."

"Alright, I'll follow you." I say.

As we hike through the woods looking for a sensible location, I notice he's dripping with both sweat and blood...blood that isn't his. In fact, all of the Careers are well equipped and physically undaunted, but covered in crimson splotches. I figure that many of those terrible cries that are still ringing in my head were caused by them. It's a scary thought, to be wandering around a remote wood with a few capable murderers. But somehow, I feel consoled, knowing Cato's the eminence of the group and that he's keeping the odds in my favor. Soon, we spot a small flame in the distance, masked by a few tree branches.

"Looks like someone's got a fire." Marvel says, spear ready in hand. "Let's check it out."

The pack runs like wild animals toward the flickering light. I tag along, my stomach churning in anticipation. Brush and low branches smack us in the face as we make our way to the slowly intensifying flame. When we reach the source, we find a girl shivering next to a small fire. She looks up, realizing we're surrounding her. Her pallor turns a ghostly white, and her eyes bulge in shock. She pierces the silent wood with an ear-splitting scream. Within seconds, Marvel's lodged his spear deep through her abdomen, blood swiftly emanating onto the ground. I'm just standing and watching weaponless, and my skin's probably as white as hers. I've just seen a life's gruesome end, heard the awful sound and smelled the potent scent of the internal organs. Every fiber in my body wants to vomit profusely, but I'm paralyzed in fear, trembling at the fact that soon that could be me.

"Well then," Marvel says calmly, stomping out the fire. "let's move on."

"Wait," Glimmer says. "There's no cannon, damnit! Marvel, you didn't kill her all the way!"

"Tell you what," he says, pointing his spear to a tall oak tree in the distance. "Why don't you finish the job while we set up camp by that tree, Loverboy? You haven't had any honors of killing today."

His offer causes my mouth to run dry, and the blood rushes away from my head. The group runs silent and their eyes are centered on me, awaiting my response. Cato looks slightly sympathetic, but says nothing to dismiss me from the duty.

I sigh. I guess this is what the Games are all about. "Alright." I agree.

"Alright," says Marvel, smirking.

I wait until the Careers leave to sit beside the dying girl. Blood is pulsing, ebbing out of her open stomach, and she's already unconscious. I lightly nudge her with my foot, rolling her onto her back. Instantly, the canon sounds. I run away to the tree Marvel pointed at as fast as possible without looking back.

Did I just kill her? I question myself. The thought makes the hairs on my neck stand, tears welling up in my eyes. After possibly killing a stranger, I can't even imagine killing anyone I know. Not even Glimmer. The Capitol is so fucked up, forcing sixteen-year olds to annihilate each other like homicidal maniacs. As I near the campsite, I force myself to regain composure and feign sanity. I find that each of the Careers has obtained a sleeping bag from the Cornucopia. Glimmer and Clove are laying theirs out, bickering over who will sleep next to Cato, who seems to be egotistically brushing aside the attention. But I know there's something much deeper lying under the vainglorious surface.

"Here," he says, handing me a backpack with the number "12" etched into it. "I got you one."

"Thanks." I lay my sleeping bag next to his. On his other side lies Glimmer, who apparently won the argument.

"Now," he raises his voice, commanding around the other tributes. "I want to take sleeping shifts. That way we can keep a constant guard over our lives and supplies. Marvel, Clove, and, uh, Glimmer, you take the first. Loverboy and I will keep guard."

"We're staying up?" I ask.

"Yeah, got a problem with it?" he smirks.

"Not at all."

Even though he's given me his oath of sparing me, some subconscious part of my mind truly hopes he isn't going to kill me mercilessly, like the girl who just fell at Marvel's hands. The other Careers willingly follow his orders, wrapping themselves in their insulated bags. Cato and I sit on the ground at the base of the tree, patrolling for other Tributes. In the quiet of the night, the Capitol anthem resonates through the arena, and its seal appears as a projection in the sky. Photographs of the Tributes who have died today play like a slide show in ascending order of District. The portrait of the girl Marvel and I had just killed stares eerily down at us, sending chills racing up my spine. I find out she was from District Six, even though I wish I hadn't. I wish I didn't know a thing about her or who she was, because it causes waves of guilt and self-loathing to course through my blood. But when the show ends, I sigh in relief; the last Tributes' faces to flash in the stars were both from District Ten. Katniss is still alive. Still I worry, because even though the District Six girl was speared, she wasn't technically dead until I kicked her over. The thought of Katniss bleeding profusely, waiting to die while laying in lowly rubble paralyzes me with fear. Even though she's Gale's emotional burden to carry, she's still my friend that I promised myself to stay strong for and protect to the best of my ability. The other Careers begin snoring, drifting into peaceful slumbers. What monsters they are, dreaming and resting their own bodies, disregarding the many they've beaten and broken today.

"Looks like Fire Girl's still alive." Cato says, his gentle tone breaking my angry line of thought.

"Thankfully." I reply. We both look up at the artificial stars that glisten a bit too much. Suddenly, the temperature drastically drops, and I am left shivering. Regardless, I try to make conversation. "So this is really better than District Two?"

In the faint moonlight, I can see the expression of pain flash across Cato's face. "You bet it is."

"I'm sorry it was so awful." I say, trying to be gentle.

He changes the subject quickly. I suddenly remember our ears aren't the only ones listening to our conversation. "Did you get any kills in today?"

Ugh. Even the mere mention of death makes the night even colder. "It feels really horrible."

"It really isn't. I've killed more Tributes than I can count." he boasts.

"Cato, how is it so easy for you to kill someone?"

He sighs. "I just try not to think about it. 'Cause I'm the one with the the upper hand against them."

I try to visualize myself in the shoes of a Career, wielding a spear over a helpless Tribute. I shudder. It repulses me. "It wasn't easy killing that girl."

Cato chuckles bitterly. "She was basically dead. Marvel's the one who killed her, you were probably just there when she stopped breathing."

The air seems to get frostier by the second. I feel his eyes studying me, like when we first met. I'm hunched against the tree in the fetal position, my teeth chattering so loud I'm surprised that I'm not waking the other Tributes.

"You cold, Loverboy?"

"T-to say the least." I stammer out.

Cato takes off his jacket, unveiling his large muscles. I wonder how he isn't cold as he drapes it around my shoulders. I wrap myself tightly in it, feeling his mysteriously abundant warmth comfort me.

"Thanks." I say, smiling.

He pulls a small blade from his pocket and begins to fidget, flicking the blade around the dirt. His hair is tousled, and his clothes are tattered and matted with blood. I can't help but wonder what he's been through today, but I'm guessing it was in some way therapeutic to him. I inhale the frosty air, gladly finding the smell of blood has vanished. I listen closely to the night. It's completely silent, other than the loud, throaty snores arising from the other Careers.

"They're gonna wake the dead snoring like that." I say, again trying to initiate cordial conversation.

Cato chuckles. "I think it's Clove."

"It can't be," I say, listening to the jack-hammer like sound. "She seems too feeble."

"It has to be. That sound kept waking me up back at the Capitol, it was so damn loud in the other room."

I look over at Clove, whose dark hair is bedraggled, her mouth agape. We both childishly chuckle at her. It feels so refreshing to be able to laugh at something, no matter how small. I can't even remember the last time I laughed. Cato yawns, leaning against the tree on the other side. Soon, the slight sound of his metal blade in the soil ceases, and he begins to fade hazily to sleep, leaving me with the duty of keeping guard. I inhale the scent of his jacket. It smells like the cologne from the Capitol mingled with nicotine. It's a sultry and musky scent, like the cologne men would wear in Twelve to accompany a formal occasion. It smells exactly like the kind my father gave me a squirt of for the Reaping. I turn my head to look at the other side of the tree trunk. The silver moon illuminates Cato as he sleeps silently against the tree before me. His muscular chest is vulnerably rising and falling, trusting me to refrain from taking his life. I close my eyes and smile to myself, because somehow it really assures me that he trusts me.


	7. Survival Instincts

**Author's Note: Woooo! Thanks SO much for all the kind reviews! They've inspired me so much more than I can even begin to describe. I'm sorry for the delayed update, it's the end of the school year and of course, I'm tied down with finals and study sessions. But I managed to eek this chapter out, so please tell me what you think. Reviews bring me joy, and so does constructive criticism!  
-**  
A deep, resonating cannon boom causes me to jerk awake. In an initial state of panic, I count all of the sleeping Careers, glad to find that each one's still breathing. Clove's still snoring like a buzz saw, Marvel is sprawled out on top of his sleeping bag and Glimmer is sleeping on his arm. I walk around to the other side of the tree trunk. Cato, too is snoring rather loudly, goosebumps covering his arms from the nipping cold. It's probably selfish of me to keep wearing his jacket, especially when he clearly needs it. I reluctantly peel the sweet-smelling fabric off of my shoulders and drape it over his chest, watching as he shudders in pleasure at its warmth. At this very moment, I'd never guess he was a cold-blooded killer. Right now, I see an eighteen-year old boy, victimized by a dark past, just trying to end it the only way he knows how. His face is pale and clear, and his eyelids are softly shut, almost giving him an angelic look. The only thing keeping him from looking so pure and innocent is that guttural snoring, which I swear he and Clove are competing to overpower each other with. A sick feeling begins to fester in the pit of my stomach...Katniss. Could that cannon that woke me up have been fired for her? I sit back weakly against the tree. Unless I find her myself today, I'm not going to know anything until the Capitol projects the names in the sky tonight, which seems like too long to wait. Awake in solitude, I glance over the sleeping Careers, beginning to think about all the things I haven't had time to. Gale. I wonder what he's feeling right now, being required to watch his girlfriend's life be risked and manipulated to entertain the aristocrats. I can't even fathom how much he must hate me. After all, I did profess that I had a crush on her to the entire country, and his name was mentioned nowhere in the broadcast. I would be pissed at me too if I were him, but I'm really beginning to reassess my feelings for Katniss. I've always thought she was beautiful and comely, but I've hardly desired to kiss her lips. She's so strong, yet so meek at the same time. Almost untouchable. Does this mean it isn't love, if just her presence satisfies me? All I've wanted is to be noticed, for her to admire my strength like I admire hers. But I guess it's best that she's admiring Gale's, because frankly, I don't have any.

Glimmer rises up from her sleep, peering quietly around as discreetly as possible. I have to admit, it's the smartest move I've seen her make yet. But then her emerald eyes fix on me, and I immediately wish there was some way I could be invisible right now.

"Pee-ta!" she coos, slowly crawling away from Marvel.

"Good morning, Glimmer." I reply, trying to be polite. As much as I despise her, I've got to stay on her good side while she's still capable of ending my life.

She stretches out in such a way that her chest protrudes forward. "Did you dream about anything special?"

I sigh. "No."

"I did," she begins, the flirtatiously sickening smile creeping onto her face. "You, Marvel and Cato were all there...and, well, I probably shouldn't tell the cameras the rest."

I count my blessings as Clove finally stops snoring and begins to wake, stretching in a normal and non-seductive way. Her conscious presence will tone Glimmer down.

"Good morning, Clove." Glimmer says, the sugary tone in her voice suddenly running sour.

Clove yawns. "Boy, I slept really hard."

"You definitely did." Glimmer crosses her arms. "You kept us up a long time with your snoring."

Clove's eyes narrow. "I wasn't the only one, bitch. Cato was snoring too."

Glimmer stays silent, realizing but not admitting that Clove was correct.

"Aw, what the hell..." Marvel groans, rubbing his eyes. "You guys are so loud."

"Marvel!" Glimmer exclaims, patting him on the back. "How did you sleep?"

Clove rolls her eyes at Glimmer's flirting, but seems to participate in whatever conversation that she's having with Marvel. Meanwhile, I contemplate a way to wake Cato. I don't want to disturb him, but in order to keep him protected, I can't leave him to wake up on his own. But here he is, spread eagle and completely vulnerable. Obviously, quietly whispering his name won't wake him. I hesitantly nudge his arm, but he still isn't budging. I grasp his bicep firmly and shake it. I can't help but notice how toned he is again, and how peculiarly good it felt when he lay atop me after we wrestled in the Training Pavilion. It amuses me how desperate I must be, I'm sure if a dog licked my lips I'd feel just as satisfied as if I've been kissed. Finally, Cato jerks awake, the started state of his eyes very evident. But in a matter of seconds, he finally reads and identifies my face.

"Damnit, Peeta, I thought you were trying to kill me." he chuckles, stretching his arms through the sleeves of his coat.

"Good morning to you too." I say, smiling. I wish the Games didn't pit us against each other, because with the exception of Glimmer, I'm sure this is what camping with a group of friends would be like.

"Is anyone hungry?" Marvel asks, picking up his backpack. "We're gonna need to go hunting later, but there are some little snacks in here we can have for now."

"I'm famished." says Cato. "What do we have?"

We sit in a circle around Marvel's backpack as he pours the contents onto his sleeping bag. A decent sized bag of dehydrated fruit, four strips of dried beef and a handful of nuts. Ten hands hungrily grab at the food, each of us cramming morsels down our throats. My stomach is nowhere near satisfied, but the food has already disappeared.

"Well, now what?" Glimmer asks.

"I guess we'll have to go hunting." I say, getting up. "And we should probably go now, we're not getting any fuller."

Cato stands up, but the other three Tributes stay seated, glaring disdainfully at us. "You heard him, damnit! Move it!." he shouts.

I'm surprised at how obedient the Careers are to him, groaning lazily before standing up. We quickly roll up our sleeping bags and slide them into our backpacks, then gather our weapons. Glimmer slings her quiver sloppily over her shoulder. Clove slips the handles of her knives through her belt buckles. Marvel is firmly grasping his spear, which is rusted with the District Six girl's blood. Cato is swinging his large sword around enthusiastically, and I hold my humble dagger at my side. I'm not at all eager to shed any blood today, even if it just belongs to game.

We walk stealthily through the trees, trying to scope out anything we can shoot and eat. The mockingjays sing above us, their four-note tune taunting us, as we can't see them through the thick treetops. The smell of the deciduous forest is much more soothing than the smell of blood, so I inhale the pure air and enjoy it while it lasts. A rustling in a nearby bush perks our senses as we bear our weapons, ready to pounce upon whatever is there. We stay silent for a minute, waiting for the source to manifest. A young boy jumps out of the bush and begins to flee, but Clove leaps after him, tackles him to the ground and holds a knife to his throat. My heart begins to pound in fear of having to watch another blood spill.

"Let me go! Please!" he begs, the fear in his face almost as intense as that of the District Six girl.

"And why should I?" Clove teases, her blade lightly caressing his neck.

The boy struggled underneath Clove. The poor kid's mind has to be racing, searching for something, anything, that he could say to earn even a tidbit of mercy.

"I can help you! With whatever you need! I promise! I can... reactivate the mines!"

Clove sits upright, her knees still pinning down his legs. "Reactivate the mines?"

"Y-Yes! Yes!" Relief washes over his face as he tries to propose whatever he can. "I heard you guys say you were hunting... I'm from District Three. I can store your findings at the Cornucopia."

Clove turns toward us. "He seems legit. Should we keep him, Cato?"

Cato walks over to the two and squats down in front of them. "How quickly can you do it?"

"I-I can have it done by tonight." The boy stammers. Cato pauses, considering his offer. He's so cocky and imperial to other people. I'm just glad I'm on his good side.

"Well, I guess we'll let you off to do it. But if anything goes wrong, you're fucked."

The boy gulps heavily as Clove stands up to free him. He nods, smiles shyly, then bolts through the bushes toward the Cornucopia.

"I'd really hate to kill someone that young," Clove says, withdrawing her knife. "But this isn't a team sport."

Silence falls over us, leaving us to stare at our feet. She's definitely correct, but no one wants to acknowledge it. We're faced with the inevitable truth that alliances won't last long in the arena. But somehow, we're all playing up this illusion that it will.

"Well, let's keep going." Marvel says, nipping any remaining words about the matter in the bud.

We all join him as he leads us through heaps of greenery, armed and alert. We've probably walked about three miles before we see it - a plump, brown rabbit just sitting in plain sight. How unlucky the poor creature is, not even aware that a group of starving, drooling hunters are eyeing him like prey.

"Marvel," whispers Cato. "Give me your spear."

Marvel obeys and steps back, allowing Cato to focus his target. He's just about the throw the spear when Glimmer bounces in front of him.

"You're not gonna kill him, are you?" She says sadly.

Cato motions for her to move. "Move it, of course I am."

Glimmer stands still and pouts. "But he's so cute! Oh, how could you?"

"Move, damnit!" hisses Cato. Finally, she complies, but when she steps back, her foot snaps a twig. The rabbit bolts upright and bounds away. We all sigh in frustration. Cato is fuming, staring at the ground.

"...Damn you." he growls quietly.

In another awkward and heavy period of quiet, it finally occurs to me why Glimmer is still alive. None of us like her, or even want her around, but killing her would break the alliance. If one of us actually were to exterminate her, we'd all doubt each other's loyalty. Then, we'd be forced to face the fact that only one victor comes out of this.

"Is anyone thirsty?" asks Clove.

We all nod in response. At the mention of water, I realize my lips are cracking from dehydration. I feel much like the fruit I just ate.

"The lake is this way." She motions toward a clearing in the woods. "We'll get there in a few minutes if we hurry."

She leads the way as we run, fast as possible to the body of water. Glimmer is lagging considerably behind, occasionally yelling for us to wait for her. Nobody does though. As much as I hate to admit it, it'd be ideal if we were to just lose her that way instead. Unfortunately, my stamina's decreasing too. I can barely breathe. Unlike the rest of the Careers, I wasn't trained for the Games in my district. Cato runs alongside me.

"Come on Loverboy," he pants, forcefully taking my hand and smirking. "Let's haul some ass."

I can barely eek out a thanks before we're barreling ahead at a much faster pace, making it even harder to catch a breath. That's when it occurs to me: My hand's being held right now. I haven't felt the skin of someone else's fingers against mine since Katniss' in the chariot. I hate to admit it, but I wish her hands felt more like Cato's. Her grip was weak and unwilling, her skin chapped and flaky. His is firm and confident, and his skin is supple. I smile, because for the first time in ages, I feel cared for.

When the clear, sparkling water comes into sight, Clove stops abruptly ahead of us.

"Shhh..." she whispers, holding her finger to her lips. "Look."

My heart drops to my stomach. Her head is tilted back, and her face is flushed. I can see under the clear ripples of the water, her pants are singed and ripped. The skin on her thigh is red-hot and blistering. While I'm glad that Katniss is here, alive, a chill runs up my spine as I remember the Careers have no pity as to what she must have been through. I look at Cato's face. I become anxious, because he reassured me that he wouldn't kill her for my sake. Yet he didn't say he wouldn't let anyone else do the job. I squeeze his hand, needing the support of a friend no matter how sissy it looks. I'm thankful that unlike Katniss, he doesn't pull away. I could hardly stomach watching the District Six girl's end, but to watch Katniss die would surely traumatize me.

"I got her! I got her!" Glimmer yells, her bow positioned at Katniss. Much like the rabbit, she's saved by Glimmer's boisterousness, immediately noticing us, climbing onto a rock and sprinting away. In hot pursuit, we run after her until she begins to climb a tall tree. We watch as she hoists herself up each branch, despite her injuries.

"Hey bitch, we got you now!" Glimmer shouts, positioning her bow.

Marvel pushes her aside. "Won't you shut up, she's mine!"

Katniss just stares down at us, uncertainty on her face. She must hate me beyond comprehension, seeing that I'm hunting with the main enemy, holding the hand of the superior.

But his hand lets go of mine. "I've got her, you guys move it." He pushes his way to the trunk of the tree and begins scaling it with his sword.

"Go Cato!" cheers Glimmer.

What is he doing? My heart is pounding so loud, I'm sure even Katniss can hear it. I feel like vomiting. I can't watch her or Cato die. But in the height of my distress, Cato falls from the tree, landing on his side. But before I have time to ask if he's alright, he stands and brushes himself off. A smile that crosses his lips for a single second tells me that he's keeping his word. Glimmer shoots an arrow towards Katniss, but it misses her so easily that even Katniss lets out a chuckle at her incompetence.

"Damn it, why won't she die already?" Glimmer whines.

"Probably because you can't shoot." Cato jokes.

Glimmer launches another arrow, lodging it into the trunk of the tree. A little closer, but nowhere near threatening. The Careers laugh condescendingly.

"Let's just leave her here for now," I say. "She can't stay up there forever. We can camp out here tonight or something."

I'm surprised that everyone agrees, nodding and withdrawing their weapons. We return to the lake, fill up our canteens, drink them to the last drop and repeat the process. I can see the golden gleam of the Cornucopia through a clearing in the trees. I guess it reminds me of how hungry I am, because my stomach begins to growl just thinking about the possibility of having supplies there. Suddenly, Clove stands up without a word, and tosses one of her knives. Our heads turn to see the brown rabbit with a blade through its stomach.

"Stock it, or eat it?" Clove asks, retrieving her prize.

"We should eat it." I respond almost immediately. "I think we're all pretty hungry."

Cato builds a fire with a few pieces of brush and some matches in his backpack. Marvel prepares the rabbit, and Clove and Glimmer giggle and gossip. I'm sitting on a log, carving little pictures in the wood with my knife. I can't help but wonder how much suffering the other Tributes are enduring right now. As a rule, the Careers have the step ahead, and we're barely surviving. I wonder how Katniss got all those burns, and if any sponsor has come to her aid. I really hope Haymitch is sober, because it'd be cruel of him to just watch the Games as entertainment while lounging in a drunken haze. Sadly, it really doesn't seem too out of his character.

"Peeta! Come eat!" yells Clove, motioning me towards the fire. The smell of meat suddenly becomes pungent and alluring, causing my mouth to water. When she gives me my portion, I eat it like a savage beast, gnawing and drooling simultaneously as I literally choke it down. Effie must be beyond agitated having to watch this back at the Capitol. But everyone else is eating this way, even Glimmer, who seemed most Capitol-oriented out of all of us. Marvel looks like he's having a passionate moment with his meat, licking it and rolling his eyes back at every stroke of his tongue. I can't help but laugh, and soon the other Careers join me. I let myself enjoy the moment, because it could very well be our last meal together. After we've finished our food and satisfied our stomachs, we decide to continue hunting for the remainder of the day. It's probably best to stock up on food and water, because who knows what the Gamemakers will throw our way over the next few days. We move in the direction opposite of the Cornucopia, further into the heart of the arena. The sky begins to turn that haunting orange color, which makes my mind fabricate the smell of blood. I shudder and keep walking, trying to avert my thoughts away from death. But a searing, sharp pain that slices through my calf won't let me think about anything else.

Before I know it, I'm on the ground, yelping in pain. Cato and Glimmer are bent down beside me, inspecting the damage. Clove and Marvel are standing behind them, discussing a remedy. Glimmer touches my leg lightly. I wince.

"Poor Peeta!" she cries. "You're caught in a snare!"

I look down. Yep, my ankle's bloodied and torn by a snare with jagged, metal teeth. The sight of it makes me feel woozy. Glimmer moves her hand to the site of the injury, but thankfully, Cato stops her.

"Stop! You're making it worse!" he barks.

Glimmer sits back submissively. "Does it hurt a lot?" she asks me.

I open my mouth to answer politely, but Cato interrupts. "Of course it hurts, he wouldn't have been squealing in pain if it didn't!"

My thoughts exactly. Glimmer stays silent, letting Cato inspect my wound closer. He doesn't touch it, but my skin is burning furiously at the nerve, pain throbbing through out my entire leg.

"Everyone, go try to find some medicinal herbs or something. I'm gonna get him out of this thing."

The other three obey his orders, running further in the direction we were originally headed. The sound of their footsteps begins to fade, and soon it's just Cato and I.

"I had to get that stupid bitch out of here." he says, inspecting the snare.

I lay on my side, straightening out my ankle. "Yeah, she's kind of an impediment."

Cato sighs. "I'm going to have to pull this thing off your foot, and it's probably going to hurt."

I brace myself. "Alright."

A raw, stinging sensation encompasses my foot as he pries the snare off.

"There, you're free." he says, tossing the atrocious weapon at a tree trunk. But before I can thank him, an odd beeping noise fills the air as a silver parachute floats down to my hands. I unwrap it quickly and find a tube of antiseptic ointment. A note is attached:

"Stay alive, Loverboy"

It's signed with an H. No doubt, this was a gift from Haymitch. I smile. Maybe he wasn't in some stupor while the Games passed him by.

"Can you walk?" Cato asks, looking up at the sky. The sped-up day is morphing quickly into nightfall.

"I'll put this stuff on, then I'll try." I say, applying the cream. It stings on the site, but it's a good sting, killing all the bacteria that could have grown into something really troublesome. I wobble to my feet and manage somewhat of a limp. Cato grabs my hand again, smirking.

"I think you'll need some help."

"Thanks." I smile.

I'm really grateful for him, to say the least. Without him, I really would be alone in the arena. Perhaps the only thing I like about this place is that there are really no social boundaries. We act on impulse, on the instinct of survival and nobody can tell us otherwise. On a normal day in Twelve, the sight of two males hand in hand would be damned and judged by everyone, regardless of the circumstance. But here in the Games, I don't think anyone cares. No one expects us to act prim and proper, because manners fall to the wayside in times of desperation. We hobble slowly through the woods, until the other three Careers meet us. It's almost like they knew exactly where to wander.

"Oh good, you're walking." says Marvel. "We got some more food."

"We're not going to the Cornucopia tonight." Cato commands.

A choleric expression finds its way to Marvel's face. "Why not?"

"It's already night, and Loverboy can't even walk straight. Besides, we still might be able to catch Katniss at that tree."

"Fine. Then let's head back."

We walk at a decent pace back to the tree, Cato still grasping my hand. I feel the same surge of pride I felt in my chariot, holding the hand of the strongest Tribute in the Games with all of Panem as a witness. It feels a little better than holding the hand of someone else's girlfriend, even if I probably won't make it out of here to face Gale at home. The trek back to camp wasn't as far as I'd expected, but I'm relieved when I can sit down. Immediately, fatigue clouds my entire body. Cato commands the sleeping shifts once more, this time giving Clove and Glimmer the first. I'm beyond eager to roll out my sleeping bag and fall immediately into a deep slumber, regardless of the dulling pain in my foot. The Gamemakers might have ended the day, and my body might be worn, but my mind is still racing.

Suddenly, I find myself in a small room. It's familiar, but I can't pin down where exactly it is. The floor is made out of loose wood planks, and the walls are made out of closed eyelids. It's completely empty with the exception of two bodies, sitting in two of the four corners. It's so dark, I can't distinguish exactly who they are. One of them rises and stands, but I still can't see who it is. The shadowy body walks slowly toward me, but I'm not afraid at all. In fact, I feel so keenly curious that I walk forward to meet it.

"I won't let you die." it says, light beginning to emit from the ceiling. My eyes squint, trying to identify a face. A smirk. Cold blue eyes.

Cato.

His hand runs through my hair, and the breath I feel on my forehead tells me how close he is to me. The other body in the corner of the room becomes a bit more lucid as well. Lifelessly coiled up in the shadows, dark brown hair cascades over her body. It's definitely Katniss. Is she dead? I'm not sure, and I don't have time to contemplate before my lips meet Cato's. It's so emotionless, almost like kissing a family member in parting. But it's a lot more drawn-out than that. Suddenly, the eyes that cover the walls all open at the same time, somehow allowing a blinding light to pierce the shadows. I can't see a thing. I fall to my knees and shut my eyes, flecks of color flashing across my eyelids from the sudden brightness. "Stay alive, Loverboy." The phrase repeats again and again.

I jolt awake. It seems like only a few minutes ago that I'd shut my eyes, but now the sounds of morning are surrounding me. Something doesn't feel right. Maybe it's the mockingjays, sounding like hundreds of little alarms going off. Maybe it's Marvel, who is nodding off on his shift. Maybe it's the white fog that hangs so close to the ground, not allowing me to see anything in the tree above. Katniss could have escaped for all I know. Maybe it's my swollen foot, which is beginning to feel more limber. Or maybe it's that peculiar dream I had. Did I really kiss Cato? I pause for a minute, watching the boy sleep. I remember it so vividly ... His hands running through my hair, promising to keep me alive. For that one moment, I didn't feel afraid of uncertainty. I didn't feel alone. I didn't really feel anything at the moment, but now I'm confused. I've never been attracted to a man romantically, but it doesn't enrage me like everyone else in Twelve. I remember when I was in grade school, a few Peacekeepers whipped a man to death because of his attraction to another man. I remember pitying the guy, because it didn't seem like anything to be punished for. Does this mean I have feelings for Cato, or could I chalk it up to just being a weird dream?

But now I understand what didn't feel right. A huge, brown nest of ornery tracker jackers bursts open on the ground.


	8. A Change of Heart

**Author's Note: Thank you so much for all your reviews. You have no idea how happy reviews make me. They inspire me, they encourage me, and they correct me in some cases. What more could I ask for? I hope you enjoy the story. I'm feeling a little shaky on this chapter, so constructive criticism is widely encouraged. Thank you so much for reading, everyone!  
**-

I jump out of my sleeping bag, almost forgetting about my ankle until that sharp pain shoots up through my body. In a blur of a second, Katniss falls from the tree and hazily limps away into the mist. I've got no time to wonder where she's headed before a swarm of tracker jackers pour out of the broken nest, their awful buzzing offering a rude awakening to the rest of the Careers. My heart is pounding... I know what these terrible mutts are capable of. A hallucination-inducing venom that targets the fear-housing part of the brain with each sting. An ear-splitting scream from Glimmer pierces the foggy air as Marvel and Clove sprint off in separate directions, barely alert. I can see a few stings already welling up on their arms. I tell myself to act fast and get up, but I'm literally paralyzed in shock, like my mind won't process that message to the rest of my body. Before I can even attempt to move, Cato slings me over his shoulder. He runs at an abnormally slow speed, which allows me to watch in horror as Glimmer is encompassed by the black, buzzing cloud. She's swatting them away, screaming and coughing violently. It's all I can see before she disappears in the thick mist. Luckily they're occupied with her, because Cato is hardly jogging. At this rate, we'll never get away in time.

"Cato..." I gasp as we make a sharp turn. I feel him lose his balance. Before I know it, I've been bucked onto the forest floor, which makes my leg ache even more. I look around. I can't see the tree, Glimmer or the nest, but I can still hear her chilling screams. We've landed in a remote grove, a wall of bushes surrounding us.

"Cato?" I crawl towards him. He's just laying on the ground, eyes open wide and dilated. A huge sting is flaring up on the back of his neck... I can't let him die.

"Oh shit..." he mumbles, his trembling hands covering his face. He might be hallucinating... And I have no idea what to do about it.

"I-It's alright." I say, reaching out my arm to touch his back, my voice shaking. I just wish I knew what to do for him. "I won't let you-"

"No!" he roars, batting away my hand. I'm taken aback by the eerie look in his eyes - his pupils are so big that the blue part is only a corona around them. "Don't you touch him, mom!" The volume of his voice must echo through out the entire arena, making us an easy target. I look around in all directions, making sure no other Tributes are preparing to attack. Not that it'd matter, because either way we're unarmed. The sound of a cannon explodes, probably for Glimmer.

"Don't fucking come near me!" he rolls on his back, kicking his legs. I step away. There's nothing I can really do. From just one sting, the tracker jacker venom must have triggered some horrifying memory from his past, the things he told me about in the observatory at the Capitol. They're all manifesting themselves in an illusion now. His screams... They're just so real. He's almost in tears, fighting off something I can't see, and there's nothing I can do to help him. Every sound that escapes his mouth is so daunting, just like the sounds that preceded of all the deaths I've seen here. My heart starts racing. I have to do something. Anything.

"Cato!" I shout, loud as possible. The booming sound of my own voice rattles my bones. I peer around once again, making sure the coast is clear of enemies. And I must have gotten somewhere, because he's opened his eyes, his screams fading into whimpers as I kneel down beside him.

"This... It's not real." I say, running my hands through my his hair. First instinct of comforting someone.

It all comes back to me. My dream. That wasn't real either, was it? I haven't had a spare second to think about it since he and I actually exchanged words, but it's enough to send chills up my spine. This boy,whimpering and muttering obscenities in front of me, is the same boy who confidently approached me and planted a kiss on my lips in the dream. I look down and survey his face, his body, his eyes, and I tense up. Now that I think about it, he really is a statuesque and beautiful person. His body is built to perfection, and I'm not so sure I'm just jealous anymore, but adoring. I look back at his face. His eyes are closed, his skin is fair and-

His eyes are closed.

"Cato!" I shout in his face, shaking his shoulders. He's unresponsive. I break into a cold sweat; I can't lose him like this. I press my ear to his chest and listen. Thump, thump, thump. I sigh in relief. He's still breathing, but he's passed out. At least he's not in agony at the moment. For some reason, I keep running my fingers through his hair. I haven't the slightest inkling what's going through his mind as I do it, but it's keeping me sane. I breathe in deeply, letting the scent of leaves and soil fill my lungs. There are so many thoughts racing through my head. I don't know what to contemplate first, so I just replay the events from this morning. I wonder where Katniss ran off to. I really hope she didn't get stung when the nest fell. But, come to think of it, wasn't she up in the tree that it fell from? I've seen beehives back home, and if tracker jacker nests are anything like those, they don't just adventitiously fall down. Something had to initiate it. Could she have been trying to kill us? It's definitely a possibility, and a hard thing to swallow. Facing the truth, I've really done nothing but hurt her since the Reaping. I never even intended to, but the circumstances have worked out that way. I've probably created problems in her relationship from my interview, and I can only hope she'll go home alive to face them. I also severed any alliance she might have wanted to form with me, Judas-kissing it away to people I don't really know. On top of it all, I tried to hide it from her up until yesterday. I shudder. She's probably trying to scope me out with her bow at this very moment. I have to be honest, my feelings for her have changed. Those little blossoms of admiration and trust I once felt have wilted into fear and shame. Of course, I can't love her anymore. That would be just another delinquency on my part to add to the list. Besides, I remember where we are - a violent, public arena. The crest of the Capitol's wave of entertainment. I guess the reality of this situation, the fact I'm going to die here, doesn't exactly mandate love. I'll bet everyone across the country is labeling me as a traitor. Because, resting his head on my lap, is the adversary. The vicious, bloodthirsty Career Tribute that an outlying District like me should be afraid of, avoiding at all costs. I know what the Capitol wants to see, and I don't have to hear anything from the sponsors or Gamemakers to know that they're dissatisfied. They want a bloody performance, not a sixteen-year old boy's relational melodrama. I also know they're in control, and they'll stop at nothing to fulfill their desires. The rest of the Tributes will die in the process. I'll be one of them. But what about Cato? His friendship - the fact he basically saved my life this morning, the promises not to kill me, and the way he'd opened up to me - it's the only thing that keeps me going these days. I really do owe him my life, but that isn't saying much. If my life was worthless before, now it's just plain pathetic. I don't even want to know what everyone back home in Twelve must be looking at me. Not only am I a traitor, but I told the entire country that I had a crush on a girl who's already been spoken for. Everyone at school is likely joking, gossiping me up like some kind of clown. And Delly's probably right there, laughing along with them. Even worse, here I am, sitting in a grove stroking another guy's hair. My father would have it out with me for sure if I were to come home now, just like the man whipped by the Peacekeepers for his preferences. He's always strongly voiced his oppositions toward that kind of thing, and here's his own son, defying it completely for all to see. I've made such a ridiculous fool of myself, I don't even want to come out as a victor. Not that it's a possibility, but even if it was, the Capitol's already fucked up my entire life. It'd be a much harsher fate than any death the Gamemakers could concoct for me. I take another deep breath and remember the promise I made to myself, back in my room at the Penthouse. That I'd stay strong for Katniss. That I'd do all I could to protect her. I guess it isn't so black and white anymore. The boy lying in my lap has definitely blurred the lines, urging me to decide who to stay faithful to.

Maybe it doesn't matter what I do anymore. There's no future for me. I run my fingers over his lips. So these are the culprit of my subconscious mind. Soft and supple, they've played with my senses. I'm honestly pretty confused, because I've never felt this emotion before. It's a mix of curiosity, shame and warmth. It all ties together to form a tender spot, much like what I formerly felt for Katniss. And I've never noticed it before last night. As much as I hate to admit it, some deranged part of me wants to lean down and feel it, for real. It might quench this feeling away, but I guess it really isn't practical. Besides,after what he's been through back home, the last thing he needs is a kiss without consent. And what if he rejected me too? That could have some pretty dire consequences, he'd take me out with his own two hands if he knew what was going through my mind right now.

I wish this was normal. I wish my whole life was normal again. Gosh, I'm going insane. One day I'm living in a bakery, going to school and showing off for a girl whose heart I thought I could win. A week later, I'm sitting in a disconsolate arena, waiting to die, torn away from everything familiar, and falling for a guy.

"Deep in the meadow, under the willow..." I begin, my voice choking and cracking quietly. I can't finish the rest. It's the song that made me first notice Katniss, way back in kindergarten. Our teacher asked who knew the "Valley Song", and Katniss raised her hand, and volunteered to sing it for the class. Her voice was so sweet, exactly the opposite of how she is now. Every voice fell silent to listen to hers. That was so long ago, before death was staring us right in the face. The mockingjays above me have somehow heard me, and they begin to sing the first few notes, over and over again. I feel trapped in a little nostalgic box, with nothing but my fears and memories to surround myself with. My legs are tingling furiously from Cato's weight on my lap. It feels like a thousand, tiny needles are poking in all directions into my skin, as if the pain from my snare wound wasn't enough. Trying not to wince, I lift up the back of his shoulders to gently set him on the ground. Pus from his sting drips onto my lap and hands, which allows a putrid smell to waft up to face. I feel last night's rabbit come up, burning my esophagus en route. I hobble over to a nearby bush to vomit, certainly not wanting to give Cato yet another rude awakening by dumping my dinner all over his face. Now I feel incredibly weak - my energy is completely drained. My throat burns and my body is slightly convulsing. I resist the urge to sleep and sit back down on the ground. As revolting as it is, I inspect the sting. On the back of his neck is a swollen, purplish lump, with a shining black stinger piercing the center. I take a deep breath, trying not to breathe through my nose as I pluck the stinger. More of the pus drains out of the wound. It's bewildering how something so repulsive can be secreted by someone with such an ideal body, but I guess he's human too.

"Ugh...damn." he quietly groans. He must have came to from the pain of the stinger being extracted. I'm grateful that he was only stung once, because more stings would bring on a prominent sickness. Rising to his knees, he groggily scratches his head.

"That was a pretty hard morning for you." I say. "Are you alright?"

"I guess." He stands up and rubs the back of his neck, retrieving a handful of pus. I don't know how his stomach is tolerating the vile substance, but he rubs it off onto on his pants, merely crinkling his face at the smell. "Those fucking wasps stung me, huh?"

"Only once," I say, standing up as well, but tripping slightly as pain shoots up from my injury."They killed Glimmer."

"Thank God." he scoffs. "She wasn't much help."

I shrug. "I guess not." Somehow, I can't just disregard her death. I don't miss her in the slightest, but I'm not apathetic to the fact a life was lost either. The poor girl barely had a chance to live, even if she was a lascivious pest. I'm sure District One is less than thrilled to lose one of their children.

"I'm just... glad you're safe." I tell him. Our eyes meet. Damn, he's beautiful. It's almost hard to talk to him face to face like this, because a part of me keeps placing myself in my dream again. How did I not notice him like this before?

"Thanks," he says, looking up at the treetops. The mockingjays have stopped singing. "What happened when I was out?"

"Well," I begin, trying not to make eye contact. "You started hallucinating."

He chuckles. "To say the least. That was some freaky shit."

"It sounded like it. You thought I was trying to kill you or something." I say, purposely evading the fact I know that he was envisioning his mom. But for some reason, I want to know more about what went on in his head.

He raises an eyebrow, staring me right in the face. "It wasn't you who was trying to kill me."

"Well, obviously not. I'm not going to kill you." My face must be burning brick red.

He smiles slyly. "I know that, Loverboy. That's not to say the bitch back home won't."

Well, I'm shocked by his boldness. I'm sure his mother is whirling in panic watching this, knowing her son could reveal anything about her at any given time. I know I would be if I were guilty of that kind of thing.

"I-I'm really sorry about that, Cato." I say, unsure of how to console him. I don't know what he wants to disclose or withhold from the public.

"It's cool."

All of a sudden, my stomach begins to growl embarrassingly loud. Quite a contrast from throwing up a few minutes ago. "I'm starving."

"Aren't we all?" he says, sarcastically. "It sucks, because I didn't grab any weapons this morning when I ran away."

"But you got me out of there." I say, kicking my injured foot around the dirt. "You should have taken your sword instead."

"No, Loverboy, I needed to get you out of there. It's not like you could run away on your own. How is your foot, anyway?"

"Well, it hurts like hell." I chuckle. "But I can still walk. That medicine helped a lot."

"Do you think the tracker jackers are gone?" he asks.

"Maybe, why?"

He hesitates for a moment. "We could go back and grab our weapons if they've calmed down. I'm sure we could see them from a distance and run like hell if they're still there."

It's definitely a risky approach, but since we're unarmed and starving, I can't really object. "Alright."

We retrace our steps, and begin walking back to the tree. It seems further away than I remember, but that's probably because we're not in much of a hurry to get there as we were to get out this morning.

"Did you stay up late enough to see who's still left?" I ask, randomly remembering that I'd missed the Capitol's projection last night.

"Yeah, all of us, Katniss, the girl from Five, both Tributes from Eleven, the guy from Three, and the guys from Six and Eight."

I count them. Only twelve Tributes left in the arena. Half the kids I saw waving and smiling in their chariots are dead now. I guess it scares me, but the thought of Cato or Katniss coming out victorious calms my nerves somehow. Both of them have so much to live for.

"I can't believe the guy from Three is still alive." he says. "He was so... weak."

"I guess I'd act weak if someone held me at knife point, too." I say, stiffly.

He shrugs. "I'd think he would expect it, you know, fighting in the Games."

"Maybe." I say. The fog has disappeared, leaving the sight of the tree open in view. I don't hear buzzing or see any wasps. Assuming it's safe, we stealthily walk towards the base of the trunk. The nest is a flaky, cracked mess. I could definitely understand how the tracker jackers would be a bit ornery, because they must have received just as unpleasant of a wake-up call as we have.

"Damnit!" Cato hisses, looking over our former camp site. The hovercraft has already taken Glimmer's body out of the arena, along with all of our supplies. "They took my fucking sword!"

Before I can feel totally hopeless, I catch sight of a silver gleam in the dirt. Sitting down, I dust off the soil that covers it. My knife. Packed in the dirt is my small knife, and perhaps our only hope. "Cato! Look!"

He snatches the knife out of my hand, attaching it safely to his belt. "I'm not going to lose this."

It's just the two of us now. No longer are we the callous, superior Career Tributes, but somewhat of an easy target. We don't have the plethora of weapons and supplies that we did when the Games began, but simply a small dagger. We need to use more of a defensive strategy instead of an offensive one.

I can't believe Glimmer is dead, either. She didn't belong here in the Games. I could tell by her extreme femininity and lack of tact that she wasn't ready to be here. Then again, neither was I. I'm just as lost and clueless as any of the smaller children that died in the bloodbath. But by some fleck of insane luck, I ended up with a strong ally. I smirk to myself, remembering Glimmer's one-sided lust for Cato. She made it so obvious. From touching him every chance she got, to flirting in the most inhumanly sugary tone I've ever heard, I found it to be somewhere between humorous and pitiful. I'm trying to keep my attraction to him under wraps, using her as an example of how not to behave. I would certainly never alter my voice or pointlessly grope anyone to convey an interest in them. It's just rude, and she didn't know of any of the things he's been through. It comes to me immediately why, back in the Training Center, Cato refrained from laughing while she and Marvel wrestled. He must have been petrified by all of the memories, because the sting of a painful thought might be triggered by anything relating to the matter. If I were him, having all of the experiences he's had, Glimmer's boldness towards men would have nauseated me. But a fierce, thunderous rumble breaks me out of my bubble of thought.

My stomach growls again, even louder and angrier than the first time.

"Apparently someone's hungry."

I'm a little embarrassed by showing my weakness, but now that I think of it, there's no one in this arena that I'd be more comfortable to show it to. "I'm famished, do you think anyone's stocked anything at the Cornucopia?"

"Maybe, but probably not. We're going to need to hunt something." he decides, inspecting the knife formerly belonging to me.

"Can we go there anyway, just to check?" I ask, in an almost childlike manner. He's so dominant, in both stature and his forceful character, I'm sure anyone would feel submissive at his mercy.

"Alright, Loverboy, you're going to learn how to hunt. Come on."

"Alright, thanks." I agree cordially. I don't particularly want to kill anything, but at this point I don't have much of a choice.

We walk warily through the arena, in the direction heading toward the Cornucopia. I really do hope the things we need are there. Surveying our surroundings, we stay completely silent, almost holding our breaths so as not to scare away any potential game. I'm crossing my fingers, hoping my stomach doesn't gurgle as shamelessly as it just did. I'm shocked at how quiet Cato's footsteps are, despite his large body. Mine are much louder, partly because I'm inexperienced, but mainly because it's difficult to do anything but limp around with my injured ankle. I can definitely feel an irritation of the skin. The arena's been cold, so other than applying my medication, I've kept my socks and shoes on. Sweat and blood have stiffened the cotton to a cast-like texture, chaffing against the scabbing skin. I try to ignore the pain, forcing my eyes to look scan the trees and bushes for any small animals. But unfortunately, they won't ignore the handsome blonde boy walking in front of me long enough to focus on anything else. Even the Tribute uniform of tawny pants, bulky shoes and a thin jacket makes him look appealing. I feel my face flush, knowing that if he were to ask me something at this very moment I would be almost completely oblivious and look very foolish. The only thing that slightly distorts the muscular perfection is that awful, red sting wound on the back of his neck. I can't help but feel pity for him, at the same time I'm counting my blessings that I didn't get stung. I wouldn't have been strong enough to face the illusions of fear that would have crossed my mind, nor stomach the smell of the stinger's excretion before profusely vomiting.

"Loverboy!" Cato whispers, pausing in his tracks. The idea of stopping doesn't register fast enough, so I stupidly walk right into him. I was definitely right a minute ago, about looking like an idiot.

"Shh!" he hisses.

We listen intently to the sounds of the forest. Mockingjays chime overhead, but the sound of faint voices in the distance makes my heart race. We're in no position to defend ourselves, using just a small knife.

"Quick!" Cato whispers loudly, pointing just over my shoulder. "Get in that bush!"

Without a thought, we dive into the green leaves, concealing ourselves from the sight of anything crossing the path of the general area. The thumping in my chest is so loud, I swear anyone passing by will hear it. We listen as the sound of footsteps become audible, and the voices become clearer.

"Did you see them anywhere?" a girl asks.

"No, I haven't seen them since this morning." a husky voice answers.

"Well, let's keep looking." she replies.

Something about these voices sound familiar, but I can't see anything past the green leaves of the bush. I'm not about to move a muscle to try, either. What if they're talking about us? Part of me begins to internally panic. Could this be... my final moment? I tremble, grasping the hair on my head tightly. Maybe I'm not so apathetic to the idea of death as I thought I was earlier. But it seemed so much further away at that point. A hand pats me gently on the back. As soundlessly as possible, I try to turn my head to look, but instead Cato's eyes meet mine. His arm is bent at an angle behind me, indicating the hand was his. He places his finger to his lips, reminding me to stay quiet. It's vital I obey, so I try my hardest to relax. The footsteps come closer. It rattles my efforts to calm down.

"Marvel, maybe they climbed up there." the girl says.

"I doubt it, Cato can't climb up a tree to save his life." Marvel replies.

"Well, we need them. We're still allies after all."

Cato snickers silently to himself. The voices belong to Clove and Marvel. The pace of my heart slows down, and I'm slightly relieved. I'm still not sure whether to trust them or not, but I'm definitely glad they weren't any of the other Tributes.

"Should we get out?" I mouth silently to Cato.

He nods, parting the leaves in front of us. "Maybe you should have looked in here." he says, sarcastically.

Clove and Marvel jump in shock, before smiling and chuckling. "Damnit, Cato," Marvel says quietly. "You scared the shit out of me."

"I can see that." Cato replies. He turns back toward the bush, motioning for me to join them. "Come on, Loverboy, it's safe."

I probably look so incompetent right now, fumbling my way out of the bush. Marvel and Cato discuss their previous whereabouts, but Clove stares apprehensively at the leaves I'd just crawled out of.

"You know that's poison ivy, right?" she says quietly.

Everyone falls silent, all but Marvel, who chuckles bitterly at our expense. Is that really necessary? If we're allies, we should at least look out for each other. But, then again, alliances are pretty half-hearted here.

"Are you fucking serious?" Cato angrily shouts, ravenously itching his arms.

I look back at the bush, surveying the leaves. How did I not notice? I can be so brazen sometimes. But now that I'm thinking of it, my neck begins to tingle with an itch. "Yeah, Cato, I think they were serious."

"There are some supplies at the Cornucopia, if that's where you guys were headed. The District Three guy stocked some, and we just ate." Marvel says.

"Well, that's exactly where we're headed. I'm starved." Cato grumbles.

"We'll go with you," Clove says. "I sure as hell don't want to get separated again."

My foot is throbbing in pain, but I continue to walk along with the rest of them, lagging behind. Looking weak is futile at this point, because I'm still hesitant to trust the other Careers.

"So I'm assuming Glimmer died?" Clove asks.

"Yep," Cato says. "the dumb ass deserved it, too."

"She just sat there shrieking until she actually got stung. That's all I saw." Clove says, coolly. "She was a real bitch."

Marvel laughs. "You guys don't even know. Back at One, we went to the same training academy. How she acted here is nothing."

"You knew her before the Games?" I ask.

"Yep. She was pretty superficial. Hitting on every decent looking guy in sight, scrutinizing other girls. The typical, popular whore. No one would ever know it if there was really something hiding under that."

For some reason, it doesn't surprise me. Glimmer did seem a little bit arrogant. But then again, all of the Career Tributes I've met are in their own way. They're the only ones who have actually trained for this. They have a huge advantage over us, even though it's technically illegal to prepare for the Games beforehand.

"She told me I was fat and incapable for the Games." Clove says quietly.

"You're skinny as hell." Marvel yells. "And you have skill. Glimmer didn't even do anything at the academy other than flirt with people. It's pretty evident that she wasn't ready."

"She was so annoying." Cato interjects. "She kept hitting on me last night, so I told her I had a girlfriend back home."

"Good move." Marvel says.

We walk in silence for a while. Whether they're taking a moment to remember Glimmer or simply taking a break from conversation, I'm not sure. But I'm definitely in thought. Cato told her that he had a girlfriend. It's so dishonest, it's funny. I chuckle to myself. I could never picture him succumbing to a woman.

Then, why does the thought actually bother me?


	9. Confusion

**Author's Note: Wow, I'm so sorry! It's been forever since I've updated. The sad thing is, I've had this chapter written out for a while but have been much too lazy to upload it. I actually have the entire rest of the story mapped and plotted out, but I'm simply editing it into an actual story if that makes any sense. Reviewers, thank you SO much for your attentiveness and generosity. Your kind words and criticism are what keeps me going and I'm beyond grateful for it.**

**And, bonus points to everyone who actually understands all the music references I'm making. ;) PLEASE read and review! Your feedback is always more than welcome.**

Thanks to Fadi for the idea for the ending line! 3

* * *

I feel miserable. My skin has broken out in blotchy, red welts, and they won't stop itching. My ankle is still swollen and sensitive, making walking nearly an impossible feat. I feel faint from hunger, but the lingering hints of vomit in my mouth terminate any trace of an appetite. Already, it feels like such a long day. Sometimes I wonder how many hours the Gamemakers allow us from sunrise to sunset. Some of those hours linger on and on, while others seem to fly by at an incomprehensible speed. Through blurred vision, I watch Cato walk slightly ahead of me, alongside the other two Careers. I wonder if he even suspects that I'm watching him. He's so peculiarly strong. I mean, anyone can see that he's in good physical shape, but the way he's dealt with the hallucinations this morning, the way he's coping with the Games, and his home background is beyond admirable. Hell, even the way he's itching the red bumps on his palms is impressive. I just can't help but wonder why he's so determined to keep me protected - what merit could I possibly have to him? The only reason I can muster up is that I'm keeping his secrets, that I'm aware of what he's been through. Maybe I'm the only one here who does. But why would he want to keep me alive, when know I this much about him? I'm driving myself into some kind of madness by questioning myself so much, but it's the only way I can come to conclusions. I'm terribly confused. Especially by the dream I had last night. In all honesty with myself, I'm definitely attracted to him. It's a venial thing, and I guess I can live with it. But if it's just physical attraction, why does imagining him with a woman feel like nails screeching down a chalkboard? It'd be downright absurd to feel anything deeper than infatuation in a place like this, a place where no two people are allowed to survive. To be blunt, it's stupid to get attached. Besides, he probably wouldn't return the feelings. Not to mention there are cameras embedded in every nook and cranny of the arena. And if those feelings actually did exist, and I decided to show them, all the shame I would bring to my District would be too way too much to have to die with.

The rest of our trek through the woods seems to endure forever, probably because the pain in my ankle is constantly sharpening. But sharpening is putting it mildly. It feels more like all the fury of hell shooting up my leg with each step. I really wish I still had that tube of ointment that Haymitch sent me, I know it could have eventually eased the pain. I'd be fortunate to receive something like it again, but the odds of that are probably pretty slim, means that the Gamemakers saw me lose the first one. Up ahead, I'm finally starting to see the Cornucopia's gleam in the tree clearing. Marvel stops abruptly, studying the broad field ahead.

"We're going to have to go back around to the tail of the Cornucopia, because Three's got the ground in front of the mouth totally rigged." he instructs in a whisper, as to quietly keep the secret of the mines hidden from potentially listening ears.

"He's been stocking supplies there this whole time, right?" I ask in a calm voice, despite the fact I'm compulsively itching my arm.

Marvel nods. "I guess. I have no idea how no one's set the mines off, but apparently the Gamemakers send something small to the Cornucopia every day, and he just hoards it there."

Now that I have an opportunity to look closer, he looks very tired. Heavy bags hang under his eyes, graduating into the leathery and worn skin of his cheeks.. Clove seems to be quickly ailing, too. Her pallor is a sickly white, and her body is beginning to appear bony and frail. The tracker jacker stings on their arms are much smaller than that on Cato, but I guess compared to Glimmer, they were all lucky to have only been stung once. I can't help but wonder what kind of hallucinations and other side effects came over them, but they seem fine now. I guess it wasn't too terribly severe. But even Cato's golden skin tone has faded, and his welts and wounds are increasingly prominent. If these "stronger" Tributes are becoming visibly weaker, I don't even want to know how I look. But I do wonder how Katniss is managing since the tracker jacker incident this morning. She didn't seem debilitated or feeble at all when she jumped down from the tree, but if I remember right, she was staggering around afterwards. We walk swiftly through the sparse trees until we reach the open field, where the faint, white sunlight beats down on the vulnerable plain. I groan to myself. I'm not exactly feeling up to running full speed right now.

"Alright, we've got to be fast." Clove says, quietly. She seems energetic.

My heart begins to race as we step outside the protection of the trees, running like hell across the grass, and then around to the backside of the large metal structure. The pain from my foot and skin racks my whole body, and I'm trying as hard as I can to hold back a whimper as I pant from the sprint.

"Hey, Three!" Marvel shouts, making the small boy aware of our presence.

Finally, we make it to the tail, none of us wounded, dead, or blown to smithereens. All of us are trying to catch our breath, even Cato. From behind a stack of empty crates, the boy walks up to meet us, analyzing our condition. Without the expression of terror on his face, I hardly recognize him. He's still scrawny and small, but he looks a lot less humble today. I imagine we're looking pretty weak to him right now too, panting like wild dogs and obviously drained of fuel.

"Back again already?" he asks, staring specifically at Clove and Marvel.

Marvel nods in our direction. "They lost their supplies. And now they're starving."

"Well then, you're in luck." the District Three boy says, handing me a backpack. "There's a sleeping bag and some other stuff in it. The Gamemakers just dropped it by earlier."

"Thank you." I say, probably sounding a little more desperate than I should. But why hide it? I guess everyone's desperate now, no matter how well-off the home they came from was.

"There's more." he says, crawling into the mouth of the Cornucopia. We stay silent, waiting for him to retrieve whatever he mentioned. I look at my reflection in the gold metal. It's blurry, but I can see that I've lost weight. The feast that the Gamemakers were partaking of during our scoring returns to my memory. Here we are, hard up and malnourished, while they're probably sinking their teeth into another roast pig and watching us starve. How revolting.

The boy walks out of the Cornucopia, holding a silver sword. Cato's sleepy eyes brighten upon seeing the blade.

"This is for you." says the boy. He doesn't even have to hand it to Cato before the sword is snatched quickly out of his hand.

"This is fucking awesome!" Cato yells, slicing the air. "Much better than the last one."

It's strangely childlike, the way he jubilantly swings the blade around. If I've learned anything positive from the Games, it's that happiness is easier to come by in times of need. I'll admit that back at the Capitol - or Twelve, for that matter - a simple sword, someone's snoring or even food wouldn't have made me feel the same way it's made me feel here. I guess I've learned to appreciate the smaller things more. The District Three boy smiles shyly, picking up an apple near his feet. But before he takes a bite, he notices me staring hungrily at it. He looks back down at the shiny green fruit, as if to contemplate whether he should give it to me or not. After all, I'm considered a Career, and he's under the impression that I'll kill him if my temperament tells me to.

"Would you like this?" he finally asks.

"No," I say, unzipping my backpack and smiling courteously. "You can have it. I've got food in here."

A smile spreads across his face. "Thank you."

I find a package of mixed nuts in my backpack, so I open them and eat a few. As the boy bites into the apple, I notice the other Careers' eyes are glued to me. Are they upset with me, for being kind to someone below us? Marvel's face is blank, and Clove is smiling gently. Cato, however, is wearing the same expression that he wore in his chariot. Fury. Envy. But why? I'm no longer stealing his spotlight, flames aren't rising on my back anymore. There's no crowd to impress now. It doesn't make much sense, but I guess there's room for misinterpretation on my part. For all I know, he could have just been hungrily pining after the food.

"I'm sorry I never asked," begins Clove. "but what's your name?"

The boy smiles. "My name's Jayel."

"Jayel," she repeats, the corners of her mouth pointing upwards. "Nice to meet you."

"And you too." Jayel's face looks pensive, but he remains polite. But I guess I'd be a little pensive with a girl who tried to pin me down and kill me, too.

I find myself avoiding eye contact with Cato, and trying to make it less obvious by scratching my neck. Marvel grabs a spear from the mouth of the Cornucopia, even though Jayel didn't offer it to him.

"Well," he says, eyeing the lengthy weapon. "I guess we should probably get going. Thanks for the supplies, man."

Jayel notices his spear, but doesn't seem to mind. "No problem."

We begin running back to the woods, but somehow, it isn't as tedious as it was a few minutes ago. I mean, I'm still red and itchy, and my foot still feels like someone's driven a knife through it, but at least I'm not starving anymore. Cato is tagging alongside me, jogging slowly and panting. Without even really thinking about it, I offer him my hand, like he did for me the other day. Maybe I shouldn't have done it, but to my surprise, he smiles and takes it. I smile too, feeling myself blush. It's hard not to feel a rush of adrenaline and pride, holding his hand again. It's almost like the cameras and the people watching them don't matter right now. Finally, we disappear into the darkness of the trees, obstructed from the open view. I heave a sigh of relief, and Cato drops my hand. In some strange way, I wish he'd have kept holding it. We're all trying to catch our breath, recovering from both running and the internal panic from being out in the field. Cato and I scratch our already scabbing skin incessantly. Aside from our panting and wheezing, the arena is completely quiet. The mockingjays must be resting, and the sun is shining directly overhead. For a fake, man made Game board, it actually looks somewhat beautiful today.

"I really have to piss." Cato blurts out, bluntly breaking the tranquil silence.

It's almost telepathic how Marvel, Clove and I look at each other and burst out in laughter. Even Cato is holding back a chuckle himself, refusing to swallow his pride by laughing.

"Yeah," Clove giggles. "Now that you mention it, I guess I do too."

Cato points at a nearby tree. "Well then, I'll be at that tree over there, Clove can go to that other tree, and Loverboy-"

His dictations are interrupted by another fit of laughter from us. No one could possibly take him seriously, and it's funny how he thinks we would.

"I'm serious, damnit!" he shouts, working every muscle in his face against grinning before he stomps off. "I'll be over here."

We gradually ease down from our laughter. If our bladders weren't already full, we've all acquired the urge to pee from thinking about it. Ironically, Clove and I fumble over to the trees that Cato suggested in the first place, while Marvel finds a tree located shamelessly close to the open field. I glance discreetly around, unzipping my pants only when I'm sure no one's looking. Poor Clove must feel so out of place right now, being the only female Tribute left in the Career pack. If I were her, I might feel a little defensive, using a very public restroom in the woods with three guys she hardly knows. Not that we would try anything creepy or violative, but she is very vulnerable. Not only to the rest of the Careers, but to the other Tributes as well. Something I've learned from the past Games is that people her age and size seldom survive the bloodbath. And if they do, they don't last much longer than that. I'm not certain of her age, but despite her knife-throwing skills, I think she's definitely on the younger side. I can tell by the way she talks. There's a curious innocence in her voice, a tone that I've only heard used by little girls who would come to the bakery and admire my cakes. Like... Prim. Katniss's sister. The very reason that Katniss is here, suffering somewhere in this green death trap. I try to shake the thought out of my mind. Yes, I know there are only a few Tributes left. I know I'm going to either lose Katniss, Cato or die before I know who comes out. It's all a matter of what happens first. I know those outcomes are less than ideal. But I'm going to be strong. I'm going to make it through another day and do the best that I can.

I can't help but stare intently at Cato, who is fixing up his pants with one hand and scratching his back with the other. The more time that passes, the more willing I am to give myself up to helping him survive. Even if the rest of my feelings for him are still whirling around unsettled, I've at least confirmed that I want him to go home as victor. I know, I'm not supposed to want that. I'm supposed to be fervently in love with Katniss, playing the romantic hero and sticking my neck out to save her from other the beastly, bloodthirsty Tributes. But that's not how the Games are playing out. Instead, I'm letting my feelings fall to atrophy, teamed up with the Careers, and trying not to fall for the enemy. If Cato can return to his District, I know his circumstances will improve. His mother would stop abusing him. He'd be wealthy. He'd bring pride to District Two. He'd finally be happy. But... this isn't what I'm supposed to want.

"Hey, Loverboy!" he yells, crashing my train of thought. I can tell he's noticed that my eyes are still focused on him. "When you're ready to stop admiring me, let's look through our supplies."

"Yeah, sorry about that." I shout back, forcing out a chuckle to be cordial. He must think I'm some kind of pervert for staring at him. How embarrassing.

I quickly zip up my pants and join the others, who are sitting in a circle around three backpacks, a sword and a spear. Without hesitation, Clove turns the backpacks upside down, shaking their contents onto the ground. We curiously sift through the goods, trying to identify every object. Three heavy black sleeping bags, my bag of nuts, two apples, and a dagger immediately catch my eye. Clove picks up the apple. She studies it with an intent gaze, as if she were expecting it to do something out of the ordinary.

"Marvel, are you going to want this, or can I have it?" she asks.

"Go right ahead." he answers.

"Thanks." She bites happily into the flesh, which makes a loud crunching noise. I guess it doesn't matter if we're overheard by the other Tributes. We're well-armed now, ready to jump in defense if threatened. But everything seems uncannily quiet today. I haven't heard the cannon, or even seen any other Tributes. It's a temporary relief, though. There are only eleven of us left. The arena won't be quiet for long.

"Hey, Loverboy, look!" Cato exclaims, holding up a small, silver jar.

I look closer, trying to read the print on the label. "What is that?"

He unscrews the lid and begins to rub the substance on his welts. "Antihistamine ointment. We can use it for the poison ivy. Try some."

He tosses me the jar. I catch it, quickly unscrewing the lid and rubbing the glossy, green ointment all over my swollen arms.

"Oh... This feels great." I can't help but moan quietly in pleasure. The soothing menthol instantly cools and calms the irritation, like rain in a time of drought. Eyes closed, Cato throws his head back and exhales deeply, his muscular chest rising and falling. His rash already is looking less ornery. As much as I don't want to admit it, it's sort of arousing.

"It feels good, huh?" I say, slathering more of the ointment on my face.

Cato nods, motioning for the jar. As I stretch my arm out to hand it to him, a crisp breeze whisks around us, cooling us down all over again. The patches of skin that I've rubbed the ointment are tingling gently at the surface. It feels fantastic, to say the least. Without even thinking about it, we moan at the same time - rather loudly at that.

"Gosh," Marvel says, snickering. "It sounds like you guys are fucking each other or something."

...Did he really just say that?

"Of course not!" I blurt out defensively, without even thinking about it first. Marvel and Clove are staring at me, their eyebrows raised in shock, probably because of my volume. Damnit, why can't I just keep my mouth shut? Cato chuckles slightly at my calamity. My face must be beet red right now, and the euphoric sensation of the menthol has worn off from the heat in my face. Needless to say, I'm nowhere near turned on anymore.

"Shit, Loverboy, it was just a joke. I don't think you actually would do anything like that." Marvel shrugs.

I look at the ground, my eyes once again evading Cato. His poignant expressions are so scrutinizing sometimes. "Yeah, sorry about that."

"Well," says Clove, promptly standing up. "While you guys were, um, healing yourselves, we counted up all of our stuff."

"Oh yeah, what all do we have?" I ask, probably a little too enthusiastic. I'm just trying to veer their attention off of Cato and I.

"We have three sleeping bags, the bag of nuts, the ointment, a box of matches, a dagger, four water bottles, Cato's sword, Marvel's spear, and now, only one apple."

"I guess that will get us through a few days, now we just need to find a place to sleep tonight." says Cato, stiffly.

Clove sits back down. "In that case, I'll pack everything back up. Hey, Peeta, want to hand me that dagger?" she asks me, wearing an animated smile. The more I get to know her, the more childlike and credulous she becomes to me. It's hard to believe that she's probably killed a sufficient number of Tributes in the bloodbath. Her face isn't that of a murderer.

"Sure." I say happily, sitting down to join her.

"We should just sleep back at that tree." Marvel suggests.

"Are you insane? That tree could be a vending machine just full of tracker jackers, and we might as well be the coins that send 'em down!" Cato yells.

"It was just a suggestion!" Marvel yells back. "I highly doubt the Gamemakers would actually put two nests in one tree!"

"You never fucking know, Marvel, that's the point. These bastards just want us dead anyway!"

Marvel stays silent. He can't object, because it's so true. It really brings into focus how the Gamemakers don't care if you're a Career or an outlier - if you're in the arena, the odds just aren't in your favor.

"What about the place we camped out our first night here?" I suggest, zipping up the last backpack.

Cato considers it for a moment. "I guess we could do that, Loverboy. We'd just need to get there before nightfall. Which means we'll need to start hiking now."

Ugh. The last thing I want to do right now is walk on my sore foot. Wrapped in the stiff, bloody cast of my sock, I don't have the slightest idea what condition it's in. But since I'm mobile, I guess it'd be best to hurry to the camp site. Maybe then, I could analyze it.

"Isn't it like, a mile away?" Marvel whines.

Cato glares at him coldly. "You went through vigorous training for the Games since you were twelve. I'm sure you're going to live through one mile."

Marvel scowls, his arms crossed in contempt as Cato picks up a backpack, slinging it over his shoulder. "Not everyone has the kind of energy you have, Cato."

Cato picks up Marvel's spear, handing it to him forcefully. "Life's a bitch, Marvel."

Marvel rolls his eyes, grasping his spear tightly.

"Well," Cato says irritably, turning towards all of us. "Let's get moving."

Hesitantly, Clove and I try to politely ignore the growing animosity between the other two Tributes. We equip the two remaining take our first few steps toward the portion of the woods to the far left of the Cornucopia. The temperature is dropping, and the sky indicates that the day is reaching its stale hours of late afternoon. The pain in my foot is starting to become fairly bearable the more I walk on it. Still, the other Careers are moving at a faster pace a few feet ahead of me. From behind, I notice Cato's welts have diminished. Well, not completely, but they've certainly faded to a pinkish tone instead of brick red blotches. Marvel is slumped over, using his spear like a walking cane. If I didn't know better, I'd guess he was elderly or disabled. Clove is wiry and alert, her eyes fleeting nervously around the treetops. There's a disconcerted expression on her face, but everything she's looking at looks normal to me.

"Guys, do you hear that?" she asks us.

We pause, watching for any movements, and listening to the surroundings. Rustle, rustle, rustle. My heart picks up in pace. Cato and Marvel hold up their sword and spear, anticipating an attack. I guess I'm too scared to feel inadequate about not having my own trademark weapon right now. Rustle, rustle, rustle. The sound is becoming louder... Could it be another Tribute? Clove's thin face is contorted into a petrified gaze, directed at a bush a few yards left of Marvel. Catching sight of her expression, we expectantly watch the leaves of the bush shake and rattle. Finally, a plump possum crawls out from under the bush. I take a deep breath, settling down from the internal panic. Instinctively, Marvel spears the creature. I flinch. I seriously hate watching things get killed. Human or animal, it's never pleasant to see a creature become a carcass. But the others don't seem to mind.

"That scared me half to death." says Clove.

"Me too." I admit.

Despite his frustration, Cato smiles. "Well, at least we can use its meat. There wasn't any in the backpacks."

Marvel tends silently to the corpse, removing the spear from its side, and tucking it under his arm to carry it. We continue walking, hardly speaking a single word. Everyone seems pretty irritable, so it works much better for all of us to just keep our mouths shut. The sky is gradually fading into that eerie orange pigment again. Normally, I'd say sunset orange is my favorite color, but I'm not really enjoying it at the moment.

Brrr... The temperature is dropping drastically, and the occasional cool breeze feels more like a nipping blizzard wind. The goosebumps on my skin make me wish Cato would lend me his jacket again. I feel so much better whenever I have it on. It's almost like he's rubbed some of his strength off on it, because I feel unusually strong when that fabric drapes my arms and torso.

"Are we almost there, Cato?" Clove asks. I can tell she's trying to stay on his good side, tailoring her voice as to not sound whiny like Marvel.

Cato stops walking to look around the area, stretching out his arms. My gosh, he's ripped. The contour of his muscles are showing through the back of his jacket, and it's pretty distracting. Still, I look away the minute he turns around.

"Well, since we're all tired, I guess we can just camp out here." he says. "We'll set up the sleeping bags under that tree."

"But what about the sleeping shifts?" Marvel asks, his tone bitter and condescending.

"You're welcome to take the first." Cato grumbles.

Marvel sighs. "I've been through plenty today, no thanks."

Cato remains silent in a conversational stalemate. No one could disagree that Marvel is probably having a less than perfect day, having been stung by a tracker jacker, and losing his District partner.

"Fine, I'll do it." says Clove, hesitantly.

"Thank you, Clove. Really, thanks." Marvel says, sighing in relief. "But you'll have to cook the possum before it spoils."

"That's fine. It'll give me something to do while I'm just sitting there bored." she says, her soft smile finding its way back to her face.

"There's another problem too." Marvel begins.

"What's that?" she asks.

"There are only three sleeping bags, and four of us."

We all look at the ground for a moment, awkwardly avoiding eye contact with each other. My heart starts pounding in the same rhythm as when we found the possum. Half of me is letting my mind conjure up fantasies of what Cato's appealing body would feel like in such close quarters. But the other half is crossing my fingers, in hopes that I wouldn't have to find out. If I didn't already shame District Twelve by holding his hand and staring him down, sleeping with him would certainly do it.

"I want my own." Clove protests.

"Me too." Marvel follows quickly.

Finally, we all look up at one another. Clove and Marvel are staring at Cato and I, wearing the same glares from back at the Training Center when I threw the weight. Arrogant. Patronizing. But Cato doesn't seem to mind. Actually, his expression is docile. Finally, his eyes meet mine, and he casually shrugs.

Damnit.

"Alright, I guess we're sharing it, Loverboy." he says, pulling the thick polyester bag out of his backpack. All of us stare silently as he lays it on the ground, calmly, without the slightest dissent. How could he not mind? I can see my father, mother and brothers huddled around our small tube in the living room, grimacing and groaning in realizing that their son is basically going to spoon with another guy all night. Cato glances back at us, noticing that everyone's eyes are glued to him.

"What are you all staring at? Damnit, mind your own business!" he snaps.

I sit down, because I'm not sure what "business" I have to attend to. I watch Marvel unpack two sleeping bags, laying them out at a considerable distance away from ours. Clove gathers some of the pine brush on the ground, then rummages through one of the backpacks until she finds the matches. I watch her strike it across the sandpaper alongside the box, then carefully set the lit match down on the pile of branches. The fire begins to ignite at the ideal moment. The sun falls behind the horizon, reverting the sky to a dark blue. "Well, goodnight everyone. I'm going to bed." Marvel says, unzipping his sleeping bag and cocooning himself inside.

"And good riddance." Cato mumbles, under his breath. Clove picks up Marvel's spear, poking it once more through the animal. After skewering it, she lowers the handle so that the tips of the flame slightly brush the meat. She seems so adept, like she's been doing things like this her entire life. I hate to admit it, but I know Prim would have never lasted a mere hour here in the arena. Clove, resilient and handy, has survived this whole time without much difficulty at all. I guess I'm surprised at myself, too, because I expected to die on the first day here.

"Coming to bed, Loverboy?" Cato yawns from inside the sleeping bag. I realize that I was so occupied watching Clove I didn't even see him get inside.

"Yeah, I am." I say, getting up. "Good night, Clove."

"Good night."

Next to the sleeping bag, I take off my shoes, making the pain in my foot even more protrusive. I flinch the second I see the bloodied sock.

"You should probably take that sock off." Cato suggests. "If you don't, the wound could get infected."

"I guess."

I peel the crunchy piece of what used to be cotton off of my toes, then toss it on the ground. My foot has a thick scar that's scabbed over. I'm pleasantly surprised. The injury looks nowhere near as threatening as it feels.

"It doesn't look too terrible." says Cato, holding the sleeping bag open for me.

My face flushes again. Reluctantly, I climb inside, wriggling my feet down to the very bottom of the bag and sinking down.

"It still hurts like hell." I whisper.

The glow of the fire illuminates his face, reminding me just how handsome he is. I can feel his warmth circulating through the sleeping bag, and it feels so good. I shouldn't even be thinking about it, but the dream I had last night is replaying over and over again in my mind. Well, maybe not the entire dream. But definitely the part where he and I... kissed. My mouth is beginning to water, and I'm finding it hard to resist his lips. At the same time, I'm trying to read his face. He's staring slightly over my head, steadily watching Clove grill up the possum. His eyes are drooping, and his lips are lightly parted. He seems like he's got a lot on his mind, but I've got no idea what he must be thinking of. Thankfully, the Capitol anthem booms through the arena, offering my mind a good distraction. All of us, with the exception of an already snoring Marvel, turn our attention over to the seal in the sky. The only face to appear tonight is that of Glimmer. I'm glad that no one else has died today, but the projection was no more than ten seconds long. Some distraction. I turn over on my side, facing away from Cato. Maybe that will ease my concupiscent thoughts. I am pretty tired, after all. I'll just try to fall asleep quickly as possible. But within seconds, I feel him squirming around behind me, tugging the fabric around my body. What the hell is he doing?

"Hey, do you want a pillow?" he asks.

I turn around. He's taken his jacket off, and rolled it into a ball the size of my head.

"Oh, yes, thanks." I say, nonchalantly taking the jacket and tucking it under my head. I beam to myself. He crosses his arms under his head, creating a pillow for himself. Resting your head on the rocky soil is never a comfortable thing.

"Good night, Cato." I whisper.

He yawns. "Good night, Loverboy."

My senses drink in the atmosphere of the night. The only sound I hear is the crackling and occasional squealing of Clove's bonfire. No screams, no slashing of weapons, and no sounds of death. It's peacefully quiet. The plumes of smoke and pine needles from the fire tickle my nose. It's a strong scent, but refreshing at the same time. I sink my face into the makeshift pillow. The cigarette smell has worn off of it. Maybe that's why he's so agitated lately. From what I hear, nicotine's a tough habit to break, and he might just be having withdrawals. But speaking of breaking habits, I really wish he'd stop calling me Loverboy. I don't care if it's a nickname, a pet name, or whatever - I don't "love" Katniss like I said I did. Then again, maybe it's for the best that the rest of Panem is convinced that I do. It's a good cover up for these twisted emotions I've been feeling today. Like how I'm noticing that his heartbeat is gently impressing itself on my back, or how good his warm breath feels on the nape of my neck. I really need to release these feelings somehow. But how? Definitely nothing dirty. I can think of a million ways to appease myself_ that_ way, but only a single decent idea forms in my mind. Trying to block out my knowledge of the bubbling, fuming judgement that's traveling from Twelve all the way over here, I glance discreetly over my shoulder. His eyes are closed, his facial muscles appear relaxed, and he's breathing through his mouth. He's probably asleep. Good. I brush my hand softly against his, inconspicuously as possible. Finding it rested on his hip, I lie my hand curiously over it, letting my fingers fill the spaces between his. I smile to myself. I doubt there are any cameras inside of our sleeping bag, so I'm safe from the public eye. I love this feeling of having someone so close to me, sleeping by my side. It's so refreshing, this feeling of security. It's almost like the shadow of death isn't hanging over my head right now. The moment feels so perfect, I can't help but enjoy and savor it. It could be the first and last time I'll ever experience it.

And... I'm not entirely sure if I'm dreaming or not, but I almost feel his fingers enclose around mine.


	10. A Taste of Your Lips

**Author's Note: FINALLY! It's finished! I'm so sorry for the hiatus... my new job is keeping me terribly busy. I just want to thank all of my kind reviewers, like Fadi, Shinigami, AllenCampbell, Through Darkness and Light, alykat14, Fake David and Horror Cakes! That's not even to name all of them, and I apologize SO much if I forgot to list you. You are all so important to me, filling me with kind words and great criticism whenever I need it. I'm so blessed! :3 Anyway, I hope this chapter isn't lame. Please tell me if it is or if there's anything I need to correct. Please READ AND REVIEW! :D And most importantly, enjoy!  
**

* * *

I always feel like I'm rising up from the dead when I wake up from a deep sleep. The grunting and groaning noises I make while fading into consciousness make me sound like a brain-hungry, undead cadaver. I'm sure I look the part, too. Sitting up in my sleeping bag, I rub my eyes and open my heavy eyelids. I'm not sure why, but the first thing I choose to watch is my shadow on the ground as I yawn and stretch. I can see by the shape of my silhouette that my hair has assumed a style that's normally only achievable by electrocution. Rubbing some of the stray hairs off of my forehead, I realize my skin is covered by a thin film of slick, pungent sweat. Back home, my brothers and I always used to tease each other about how gross we looked and smelled in the morning. But I'm sure the last thing they'd want to do if they saw me, at this moment, would be to joke around. Actually, I'm sure they'd want to beat me to a bloody pulp after the way I've treated Katniss, the way I'm still involved with the Careers, and especially the way I've been acting around Cato lately. I look down at the boy laying next to me. His body feels so warm pressed next to mine, which is probably the reason I'm sweating so much. Unlike the previous mornings, he hasn't eeked out a single snore. Instead, he's sleeping peacefully, soundlessly inhaling and exhaling. His hair isn't much more than lightly tousled, and he isn't odiferous at all. In fact, the slight scent of his natural musk is sort of charming. Truthfully, I'm almost embarrassed to have him wake up and see me like this. He's seen me in the morning before, but never looking this sweaty or rancid. I haven't bathed in three days, and I'm sure that's got something to do with why this morning is worse than the others. I comb my fingers through my hair, trying to make it look at least tolerable.

"Hey Peeta." I hear someone whisper.

Well, it definitely wakes me up. I jump, looking around the woods in front of me. Nothing. Twisting my neck to look behind, I find Clove, awake and attentive, sitting on the ground near her sleeping bag. She giggles, probably amused at my being startled.

"Oh, good morning." I say, my voice strained and groggy. Even though my state of panic lasted about two seconds, my whole body feels like I've just had a minor heart attack.

"Did you sleep well?" she asks.

I hesitate, not wanting to admit that I slept exceptionally well while cuddled up to Cato. "I guess so, did you?"

"I actually couldn't sleep." she says. "But it's okay. I just kept guard all night. I figured you guys would want the extra rest."

I muster a grin as decent looking as possible, hoping it won't be totally hidden by the overall offensiveness of my morning face. "Thanks. You could have woken me up if you needed a break from watching, though."

"It's fine, Peeta, really. Besides, you and Cato just looked too cute sleeping with each other!" she banters.

I chuckle. "Oh, come on. You know it was just unfortunate circumstance." Maybe I'm doing myself a favor with Twelve by saying it, but the tugging inside of me tells me how untrue that statement really is. I haven't even left my sleeping bag yet. Sure, I'd never admit to her that I held his hand under the polyester cover, but it felt like a lot more than just unfortunate circumstance. Still, I say nothing more.

"I know that. I was just joking." she says, her tone returning to seriousness. "Anyways, do you want breakfast?"

"Oh yes, that would be great. Thanks." I say, relieved we aren't discussing my sleeping situation anymore.

"I was so bored last night." she tells me, rummaging through her backpack. "I got the possum all roasted up, but somehow, I forgot I had to skin it and gut it first. So then, I had to wait for it to cool down before I could properly prepare it. It took an hour, but I did it. I probably made a few mistakes, though."

She strikes the wooden stick against the side of the box, making a small fire. She looks so... Happy. Undaunted. You'd think she was speaking at a baking seminar or something by her cheerful demeanor. You'd never guess she was a violent Career of the Hunger Games. I watch her skewer four portions of meat onto a stick and dip them in the flame, humming some tune I don't recognize. The sky overhead is brighter than usual, which indicates that it's mid morning. Clove was right. I definitely needed the rest. I feel like I've been sleeping with one eye open the last few nights, awake from the wee hours of daybreak until the end of a guard shift. But at the moment, my body feels rejuvenated. From inside the sleeping bag, I can feel that my foot is starting to heal. The pain has almost completely subsided.

A grunt rises up from the ground. Both Clove and I turn our attention to Cato, who is stirring next to me. He slowly rises up, going through the ritual of yawning and stretching. Except he looks nothing like a living corpse.

"Mhm..." he mumbles, rubbing his head. "Good morning."

"Good morning." Clove and I return, in unison.

"Breakfast is almost ready." She adds. "Can someone wake up Marvel?"

Cato and I both look at each other. It's difficult to believe that just twenty four hours ago, his perfectly intact eyes were dilated by toxic venom straight out of a horror film. I'm sure he's analyzing every troll-like feature on my face, as I'm analyzing every attractive feature on his. But instead of grimacing at me, he smiles kindly.

"I'll go wake him up." he says, seemingly obliged.

The warmth at my side turns cold as Cato gets up. It's kind of funny, the way he hobbles groggily over to Marvel's sleeping bag. Both Clove and I are watching him, waiting to see how he'll go about waking what lies under the massive heap of polyester.

"Marvel!" Cato yells, kicking the sleeping bag repeatedly. "Damnit, get up!"

I should have guessed it'd be something like that.

I can't help but laugh as Marvel jumps about three feet in the air, his eyes wide as tea saucers. He looks around in all directions, and it takes him a minute to realize that no one's really threatening him. Finally, he stares up at Cato, his eyebrows furrowed.

"What the fuck is your problem?" Marvel barks.

"Well, I wasn't going to gently nudge you like a lover, if that's what you were expecting."

Marvel rips himself out of his sleeping bag and stands up. "Yeah, well it'd be better than making me think someone was about to skin me alive or something!"

"Come on guys, pull it together." Clove interrupts. "I've got your breakfasts ready."

I guess we're all hungrier than we are stressed or tired, because next thing I know we're all flocked around her. She hands us our hunks of meat, then proceeds to put out the fire before eating hers.

"Thanks again, Clove." I say, trying to be kind in tone.

Cato and Marvel mumble something that sounds like "thank you", their mouths already full of the leathery meat. It's not much longer before mine is, too. Possum doesn't exactly taste good, but I guess a couple of starving, teenage boys like us will readily eat anything. None of us even talk while we gobble down our food. I'm pretty sure I'm malnourished, because the feeling of warm protein moving down my throat is enough to make me shudder in pleasure. I just wish the sponsors could just send down some of their delicacies instead, means that they're so wealthy. I'd rather eat roast duck and lamb stew than half-burnt possum in a heartbeat.

"Hey, we got any water?" Marvel asks, his mouth stuffed.

Clove pauses. Her face turns even whiter than it already was. "Actually... No. I-I used it to put the fire out." she admits, hanging her head a bit.

Marvel swallows. "Well, that was stupid of you. Now what are we supposed to drink?"

"I'm sorry, Marvel, please don't be upset... Putting the fire out was self-defense, right? That way other Tributes couldn't find us."

"That isn't the problem, Clove, we could take down another Tribute! We can't just take down dehydration, can we?" he says, with growing intensity in his voice.

The smile that was formerly worn on her face droops down into what looks like a muddle of fear and grief. "No... We can't." She answers, humbly.

"Hey, cool it, bastard!" Cato yells. "She made your fucking breakfast, and this is how you thank her?"

"She wasted our water supply, damnit!" Marvel hisses back, pointing at Clove demeaningly. Poor girl. She really was just trying to help.

"Can't we just go to the lake today and get some?" I propose. Surprisingly, everyone falls silent, their attention on me. "It's not like we have anything pressing to do today."

They pause, considering the idea. None of us really want to carry our weapons and supplies for two miles, as weak as we feel. But what choice do we have now? We're on the clock against our bodily necessities, and frankly, I can't think of anything much more pressing than that.

"I guess you're right." Cato shurgs, turning to Marvel. "Alright, let's start packing up."

Marvel rolls his eyes, but succumbs to Cato and rolls up his sleeping bag. Come to think of it, Cato's disposition is unusually calm today. Maybe he slept just as well next to me as I did next to him. But I try to bat those thoughts away - I'm getting too attached. And if I haven't clarified it with myself enough yet, this isn't a place to get attached to someone.

Finally, we've got all of our supplies either in our hands or on our backs. Cato leads the way, stomping carelessly through patches of groundcover. I guess it doesn't really matter if we're seen or heard at this point. The Capitol hasn't seen any deaths since yesterday morning, and I'm sure they're getting annoyed with how dull this year's Games have been. I'm just keeping my fingers crossed that whoever dies next won't be Cato, Katniss or myself. I don't really want Clove to, either. Marvel, well, I'm a little indifferent to. But I know that two of us have to die within the next few days. Sure, it crosses my mind a lot, bu it isn't an easy fact to face. I'm almost choking back tears even thinking about it. Death just doesn't look the same way here as it did back in Twelve. When someone was about to pass, we just knew it. We could see it. Usually they were old, sick or frail, and they seemed ready for their lives to end. No one would have ever expected any of the supple, shining teens who pranced on stage for their interviews to be mere hours away from not existing anymore. I didn't expect to survive this long, and the longer I live here, the more scared I become for myself. The Games get more brutal as time goes on, right? I'm barely surviving as it is.

"You know what?" asks Clove, bringing me out of my thought daze.

We make eye contact. "What?"

"We haven't bathed in three days. I'm pretty you could make bacon on my head from all the grease. Do you feel gross, too?"

I laugh. "To say the least. I'm sure the only reason we're not getting attacked right now is because we all stink so much."

She giggles. Cato looks back at us, his smirk plastered on his face.

"Yeah, really. That's the last time I'll let you sleep with my jacket, Loverboy."

Really, Cato? I'm not sure why, but I'm slightly offended by his joke. I understand it was probably all in good humor, but it just didn't sit well with me. I'm even a bit embarrassed, because I don't want him to think I'm normally as repulsive as I am today. I mean, I'm not very attractive, but my day-to-day appearance is very much aided by hygiene. But remembering my little self policy about attachment, I tell myself not to care.

"Oh, sorry about that." I say, chuckling hollowly. "I guess it's just a morning thing."

"Well, at least we won't have to smell like shit after we get back." he says, gruffly.

A moment of silence passes over us as we walk. Other than our footsteps pattering on the ground, the only sound available to the ear is the singing of the mockingjays. The woods feel so dead today, and with no pun intended. The sky is an overcast shade of gray, and the air is brisk and cool. The white light of the sun gives the treetops almost a charcoal-like shade, which makes it difficult to tell that they're green. I'm growing concerned for the rate my allies are deteriorating at, too. It's only been three days, but Clove's collarbones are already protruding out of her neck, and her ebony hair has lost its bluish sheen. Instead, it's stringy and greasy, basically plastered to her head. Marvel's jawbones are becoming more prominent, and the skin around his neck is beginning to hang from the weight loss. Cato is, thankfully, still virile and healthy. Still tall, stocky and attractive. Maybe he's lost a little bit of weight, but it's barely noticeable. I'm surprised at how well my foot's holding up through all this walking. Sure, it still hurts a little, but it's at least bearable.

"Shh!" Cato whispers sharply, stopping in his tracks. "I heard something."

We all stop as well, listening. I can't hear a thing, but Cato draws his sword, his eyes darting around warily. Without even thinking about it, I stand a little closer to him. I guess it makes me feel safer, somehow.

An ear-piercing scream from behind me shatters the silence. Marvel, Cato and I jump as we jerk our heads to look back where it came from. My heart stops for a beat as I catch sight of the red haired, fox-faced girl biting deeply into Clove's neck. She's got Clove's hands bound behind her back, making her unable to draw out her knives in defense.

"Cato!" she screams, her eyes filled with tears of desparation. "Help!"

It's bloody and horrific, but Cato marches straight up to the fox-faced girl and pierces her neck with the sword. She falls to the ground on her back, expecterant, with blood cascading out of her neck and mouth. Clove's neck is swollen and bleeding. Before I can even register what's going on, the girl is sobbing into my chest, still shaking. I wrap my arms around her back, but continue to watch the other girl bleed on the ground. Without hesitating, or even flinching, Cato drives the sword through her chest. The cannon booms immediately.

I shudder. Gosh, I hate witnessing death. That was just as gruesome as the District Six girl from the first night, if not more so. Apathetically, Cato wipes the blood off of the sword with his shirt. While most guys are decent enough not to hit a lady, he just doesn't seem to have any shame in killing girls. I don't blame him, though. Even if our situation didn't mandate it, he's got every right to be upset with the female sex. The things he's been through back home sicken me even more now, and I didn't even go through those trials myself. I guess I'm just pitying him. I heave a sigh, wishing my sensitivity for the guy would subside already. Clove is still clutching onto my back, but she's gradually calming down. Her sobs have retreated into sniffles, and her heartbeat doesn't feel near as fast. Cato and Marvel gather closely around us.

"You okay?" Cato asks, his tone maybe a bit too callous for the situation.

The girl asserts herself and pulls away from me, rubbing her wound. "I'm fine, but... My neck just hurts."

She pulls her hand away, revealing a purplish patch of swollen skin. I wince. I've definitely seen this kind of wound before. One time, a few guys at my school got in a fight, and one of them bit the other. I didn't see the entire thing, but after the Peacekeepers took the biting kid away, the other had an infection and immediately got taken to Mrs. Everdeen's house. I always thought it was disgusting, the idea of bacteria from someone's mouth festering in your skin...

"That looks really infected." says Marvel, blatantly.

"Well no shit, Sherlock." Cato snarls at him, feeling Clove's forehead. "Are you feeling alright?"

"I feel a little warm." she says, sitting on the ground. We all just stand around for a few minutes, contemplating what to do. Obviously, she's coming down with a peculiar reaction to the other girl's bite. It kind of dampens our plan to go to the lake, but it doesn't really matter to me right now if we go or not. Honestly, things are starting to seem a little eccentric right now. First of all, I can't believe that one of the other Tributes would approach the Careers, and pick such a poor attack method at that. I mean, I've seen that girl in the Training Center before the Games. She seemed like she could very well be a genius, the way she accurately punched in every code on the screen in the memory station. It just doesn't match up to the imprudence of biting someone when their allies are right there and well-armed. Secondly, I'm getting a little concerned with the growing dissent between Cato and Marvel. It didn't start getting intense until just now. It seems like everything out of their mouths is putting them at each other's throats. I can only hope that it doesn't literally end up that way. Not only so, but I'm starting to see that soft side of Cato again. Like the one he showed me back in the observatory. But this time, it's aimed at his District partner. Doesn't he kind of hate women, though? It almost comforted me to think that he did. But he's treating Clove abnormally well... Gosh, I really hope he doesn't have feelings for her... But why should I care?

"Well, this is just great." Marvel grumbles. "She'll need water, and if this is a legitimate infection, she ain't gonna make it to the lake."

Clove's eyes enlarge at his words. "I won't make it?"

"Now you're just scaring her, bastard!" Cato yells, proving my point. Can't he just hold his tongue for once? It'd certainly be for his own good.

"I'm just telling the truth!" Marvel shoots back in defense.

Cato narrows his eyebrows. "You're just being an asshole."

Marvel steps back, his arms folded defiantly. "You know what? I'm above this. Unlike you, I can see we need some time apart. Why don't I take the canteens, go to the lake by myself, and you two can take care of Clove while I get water?"

"Yeah, go ahead." Cato says coldly, without even looking at him.

"Alright, fine. I'll see you guys later."

As Marvel turns to walk away, I get this bitter feeling in my gut that we're not going to be seeing him anytime soon. I watch him run into the trees, until the sound of his footsteps have faded off. Truthfully, I wouldn't be too terribly upset if he were to die. He came off... Threatning. Like, he was so detached in attitude, that I wouldn't put it past him to spear us all in middle of the night just because he could. I'm almost positive he's at least thought about it. I even admit, the idea has crossed my mind before. But I could never do it. I see Cato tending to an allifcted Clove like a big brother right now, rubbing the antihistamine ointment on her neck. It's somehow relieving. But just the thought of putting spears through their chests makes me hate myself for even thinking it.

A huge shadow appears on the ground we're standing on. I'm almost positive I know what it is, but still, I tilt my face to look up. It's never a good idea to just trust your instincts on your surroundings when everything is literally out to kill you. But just as I figured, a silent, sizeable hovercraft is now hanging eerily in the sky above us. Clove and Cato seem to be just as intrigued by it as I am, watching intently as a huge net swoops down from under it. The dead, bloodied girl on the ground is encompassed by the net. Somehow, it attaches underneath her, as if by magnetic force. But after it does, our eyes follow as she's slowly lifted up into the dirigible, her long, red hair hanging down through the net. The aircraft zooms away, toward the back portion of the arena we haven't explored yet. Instinctively, I have a feeling that's where the other Tributes are hiding. And it's the last place I want to go.

"I feel really hot." Clove announces, fanning herself.

Cato's hand immediately is pressed to her forehead. "Yeah, you feel really warm. Let's hope Enobaria sends us some medicine."

I wonder if Haymitch would be so kind as to send some medicine for her. But, knowing him, probably not. He's probably fuming at the relationships I'm sustaining with the Careers, wishing one of us would just end it already.

"Do you guys need me to do anything?" I ask, just to be polite. But I truly doubt there's anything I can actually do to help her.

"Stay here." Clove says, longingly. Her cheeks have turned a pinkish red from the fever, and she's looking weaker by the minute. "Please don't leave."

"I won't. Don't worry." I reassure her.

"Thank you."

I think I'm finally starting to understand why Katniss volunteered as Tribute in Prim's place. Even though I never had a younger sibling, I think I know how it must be to feel the sense of responsibility and tenderness that comes with caring for someone younger than myself. I never imagined feeling anywhere near sentimental to anyone except Katniss, but these two somehow have me hooked at the heart. I can't even believe how much Clove's warmed up to me since I met her at the dinner. At a first impression, I chalked her up to just another arrogant, Glimmer-like Career girl without much of a personality. Now, I'm seeing her softer side, the young girl who probably feels just as frightened as I do here. I didn't know that much about her. I still hardly know her. I guess it goes to show how judgemental my mind can be. But I'm not even sure how young she really is.

"Clove, how old are you?" I ask.

"Thirteen."

I guess I was right. "I'm sorry, I was just curious."

The small smile creeps onto her face. She's laying on Cato's lap, and her wound has tripled in size. It looks like a tracker jacker sting. It's probably wrong to think this right now, but can't she lay on a sleeping bag instead? I guess it doesn't matter, though. She's practically a kid. Besides, I shouldn't be possessive. Just because I kind of like the guy doesn't mean I own him.

"It's fine." she says. "A lot of people think I'm fifteen or sixteen. But I think it's just because I can throw knives."

"Yeah, it's pretty impressive." I say, kindly as possible.

"Thank you." She says, beaming.

Cato is staring up at the sky, a dubious look of apprehension on his face. I miss talking to him at the Capitol. I just wish I knew more about what's going on in his head. I don't even care what we'd talk about, but I want to talk to him again.

"Hey, Cato," I begin, trying to find something to ask him.

He snaps back into reality, making eye contact with me. "Yeah?"

I finally conjure up my impromptu question. "Um... do you think Marvel's going to be okay?"

He and Clove look at each other, like they both know what the other is thinking.

"Well, probably not. It's not like he's going for a little stroll in the neighborhood." He says, uncaringly.

Clove sighs. "I hope he comes back."

"Why?" I ask.

"Well," she begins, which is followed by a pause. She's probably trying to contemplate a response. "He was always energetic. And he made me laugh. Plus, he was kind of cute."

Cato and I stay silent, reminiscing about the boy. Well, he's nowhere near cute, that's for damn sure. But he definitely was energetic - never hesitant to spear something. Or to argue with Cato. He was kind of manipulative, too. Even though he never said anything to defend his ownership of it, I'm sure Jayel is missing his spear right now.

"I hope he brings back a lot of water. I really need it. My head hurts." says Clove.

Cato looks at me, his eyes almost seem to search me for something to respond to her with. But my mind draws a blank as I stare into his face.

Boom. Boom.

The canon sounds twice. Immediately, I imagine the worst. Marvel and Katniss, both lying dead... Perhaps at each other's hands. Unfortunately, it makes sense. Their deaths were far too consecutive to have occurred separately. It's just coincidental that it happened as soon as he popped up in our conversation.

"Well Loverboy," Cato says, quietly. "I think that might have been the answer to your question."

We stare into the sky for what seems like minutes, just waiting for the possibility of seeing the hovercraft carry away the dead, unknown Tributes. The presence of death and the passing of time almost averts my thoughts completely away from thinking about how much I despise being called Loverboy. Clove calls me by my name... why can't Cato?

"I think he's alright." she says, hopefully. "Maybe he'll come back for us. He said he would."

"Well, for your sake, I hope he does." I say, trying to be sympathetic.

* * *

Hours seem to have passed by. The sun has slightly crept over to the western side of the sky, and we've done just about nothing all day. Panem must be dreadfully bored by now, watching us graze in the sun for hours on end. Thankfully, Marvel left the backpacks with the three sleeping bags and matches with us, so we've built a fire and set up camp. At least watching us try to survive makes for somewhat less of a mind-numbing program. But there's no sign of him at all, and at the rate he was moving at, he could have made a decent number of trips to the lake and back by now. Clove is still hopeful that he'll return, but Cato and I both seem to have the same sentiments that he was the reason for one of the cannon booms. I know it's the way I should feel, but it seems wrong not to care about whether Marvel lives or dies. What seems even more perverse is that I'm not a frantic mess anguishing over my "star-crossed lover". I don't want her to die, I really don't. But if she did, I'm considering myself lucky that I didn't have to witness it. That would have torn me apart.

"You guys hungry?" Cato asks.

"I am." I say, finally paying mind to the gurgling cries of my stomach.

"Me too." Clove says quietly. Judging by her grimace and pallor, her fever seems to have gone up.

"Well, it'll taste like shit, but I'm making dinner." Cato says, roughly. He reaches into one of the backpacks and pulls out the remainders of the possum. Skewering them onto a thick twig, he lowers it into the flame to grill. I really don't want to eat that again, as I'm sure no one does. But we can all use the extra calories and protein, especially Clove.

The barely convalescent girl is laying on top of her sleeping bag, trying to keep her distance from the warm aura emitting from the dull flame. Since the weather's beginning to cool down for the night, Cato and I draw nearer, until we're nearly shoulder to shoulder. I rub my hands up and down my arms and attempt to retain the heat. But being this close to the fire, I can smell the sour flesh of the rodent, and it's anything but appealing. Disgusting, even. Still, I'm hungry and I'll take what I can get. If living in Twelve has taught me anything, it's that beggars can't be choosers.

"This fire's so weak." Cato complains, rotating the stick to evenly toast the meat.

"Why do you say that?" I ask. The fire looks decent to me.

He sighs in displeasure. "Can't you tell? It's hardly even crackling, and it's a lot lower than the one Clove built."

I snicker. "So you're admitting that Clove can build a better fire than you?"

His smile-smirk makes its way onto his face. "Shut up, Loverboy."

I chuckle, but I don't think I can hold it back anymore. "Cato, can I ask you for a favor?"

He pans into a thoughtful silence. I can tell people don't ask things of him often, and I'm almost wishing I didn't. "What do you need?"

"Well," I begin, searching for the words. "I have a name. It's Peeta. Peeta Mellark. So can you, um, not call me Loverboy?"

His eyebrows narrow, and his face looks cross. I'm hoping that he won't get upset. Not that he'd have a right to, but he's just staring at me... Not speaking a word. It feels tense.

"Cato?" I probe.

He looks me straight in the eye, and much to my surprise, smiles a little. "Yeah. I'll stop."

"Thank you."

My face feels warm. I'm not sure if it's from the heat before me, or from Cato staring at me up close like this. Maybe I don't want to face my feelings, but I turn away from him. He can be so intimidating sometimes. I look at Clove behind me, and find that the girl is fast asleep. It's quiet right now, but her small snores are gradually escalating in volume. Is it really that late already? The sky is a purplish tint of twilight, and it doesn't even feel like we've accomplished anything today. The woods are still mysteriously quiet. It's not until now that I even notice the silence between Cato and I is sort of, well, awkward.

I think he notices it, too. Inhaling a deep breath, he stares at the ground. "So Clove's asleep?"

Can't he see it for himself? Maybe he's trying to make conversation, too. "Yeah, she is. Before she got a chance to eat, too."

"Well, it's not like possum is something worth waiting up for." He says, the sarcastic tone replenishing his voice.

The Capitol anthem breaks through the uncomfortable atmosphere. Immediately, we watch the sky, anticipating the faces that will appear. Please, Katniss, please don't show up here...

Marvel. The District Eleven girl.

"Damnit!" Cato shouts.

"Well, didn't you already figure he was dead?" I ask.

"No, that's not it. I burnt the meat. Gosh, I'm such a fucking moron." He grumbles.

I look at the fire. Sure enough, the end of the stick and the possum remains have disintegrated into a black ash. He seems to be pretty disconcerted with himself, cursing under his breath.

"It's okay, really. We can hunt tomorrow morning, right? Besides, like you said, it wasn't anything worth waiting up for." I say, my voice maybe a bit too chipper.

He shrugs. "I guess you're right. I was just... Hungry."

"Well, they don't call them the Hunger Games for no reason, Cato." I joke.

He chuckles a little. "True."

The fire has gained some strength from the meat and the twig. It's considerably higher, and the crackling has become more frequent. But the fire isn't the only thing becoming stronger and louder; Clove's nuclear-sounding snoring reminds me of the imminent fact that Marvel is gone.

"So how are we going to tell her?" I ask Cato, whose mind appears to be in a similar line of thought.

"Hell if I know," he says, thinly. "She should have figured it out on her own."

"Is she really that sensitive?"

He plays with what's left of his skewer, flecking it nervously around in the dirt. "Well, I didn't talk to her much at the Capitol. But from what I could see, yeah, she is."

"I understand." I say. "It's harder than you'd expect to talk to your District partner. Katniss and I barely said a word to each other."

"Yeah." He says, pensively avoiding eye contact.

For some reason, I instantly have a vivid flashback of the things we discussed over cigarettes in the observatory, back at the Capitol. His past. His mother. Oslo. I wanted to know more, and he seemed consent to telling me. I just wish Panem wasn't watching us, hanging on our every word. Because now, he's a lot more restrained.

"How did Oslo die?" I ask. I figure it's a safe enough question.

"Bloodbath." he responds, almost too quickly. "I don't think he wanted to win."

Finally, he shoots me a look that reassures me that he's purposely being evasive for the cameras. My intuition could definitely be wrong, but that's what I get from it.

"I'm sorry to hear it." I say, playing along.

He bites his lip, looking back down at the stick. "It's fine. By the way, Peeta, I'm, uh, sorry."

"For what?"

"For calling you Loverboy. You're right. It definitely was a stupid name. So I'm sorry." He makes the word "sorry" sound like something that smells bad. In fact, his entire apology sounds like one that a parent might force a reluctant child to give.

"It's fine, you don't need to apologize if you don't want to." I say, trying not to laugh at his poor attempt at basic etiquette. "But it's not just because it's stupid that I hate being called that."

...Damn it, did I really just open that can of worms?

"Then why?" He asks.

Without thinking, I do what my childlike inhibitions tell me to do: I tell the truth. "Because I don't really love Katniss."

He finally looks me in the eye, taken aback at what I've just said. "You don't?"

I sigh. I guess there's no turning back now. "No. I don't. Didn't she throw a wasp's nest on us and try to kill us? Truthfully, Cato, I never really did. I thought I did, but I don't. And, um, that's why I hate being called Loverboy. So I'm sorry for lying to you."

He bites his lip, looking at the ground. Is that a smile I see? "That's pretty brave of you to admit on public television." he says, after a brief hesitation.

"I'd say it was pretty stupid."

"Well, then I'll be stupid, too, because there's something I lied about, too."

The phrase makes my blood run cold, as all of the possibilities of what it could be run rapidly through my mind. "What is it?"

"I said I couldn't get a girlfriend back home. Well, I never tried."

It seems minuscule, but my cold sweat doesn't let up. I'm still confused. "What do you mean?"

He sighs, as if what he were about to say physically pained him. "I don't want a bitch, okay? I want...something else."

My heart begins to thump, and my mind begins to run in every direction it shouldn't be headed. "A guy?" I say, using a sarcastic tone as my defense for asking. But truthfully, it's exactly what I want to know. Could he possibly... be feeling the same emotions about me that I've been feeling about him?

"Yeah," he says, choking on his pride by looking up to face me. "Pretty fucking pathetic, huh?"

I pause for a bit. Because right now doesn't seem like reality. I wonder if he's feeling it, too. My entire body is tense, and my palms are sweating profusely. I realize just how close we were sitting. His face is only inches away from mine, and the sight of his eyes staring at my lips makes my blood boil in anticipation. The visions of that dream I had begin to float across my mind again. Am I getting too hopeful? Is this really happening?

"Not... at all." I manage to say, under all this heaviness.

Before I know it, his eyes begin to close. I don't know if I'm even in control of my own body, or if my emotions are. Because now we're leaning in, our faces tilted toward one another. My heartbeats feel louder than canon booms as I feel the sequence of a kiss unfold before me - first, his warm breath on my face, then, his hands resting on my shoulder, and finally, his lips pressed against mine. There's no stopping this moment... because it's beautiful. It's like every emotion I've felt for him is bursting into a blissful haze. I close my eyes and savor the feeling. It's so soft. Soft and slow, like maybe lying somewhere beneath all of his pride and confidence, there might have been a hint of doubt that I would object to it. But I wouldn't. It feels perfect. Maybe I would have never considered this before the arena, when social norms mattered. But here, they just don't. Whether anyone else considers it right or wrong, at the moment I couldn't care less. It feels right to me.

Finally, our lips bid farewell and our eyes meet. What is he thinking right now? Obviously, he's aware of what just happened. I just can't help but smile.

"I wasn't asleep last night, you know." he says, his lips curling upwards into a smirk.

Why would he say that after we've just kissed? "What are you talking about?" I ask.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about."

I take a minute to come down from my high of emotions, back down to earth. Oh, right... holding his hand... he was awake? "Oh, you were awake? I'm sorry about that, Cato."

"Don't be." he says, standing up. "Because I wouldn't have kissed you if you didn't."

Watching Cato dig out our sleeping bags, I can't even control the look on my face. Blushing. Smiling. Beaming. Just ten minutes ago, I told myself not to get attached. I didn't expect him to feel the same way. I didn't expect any of this at all. It's so surreal that I have to ascertain the fact that I'm not dreaming. As caliginous and haunting as the presence of death should be, I feel invincible up against it. Because even if a Tribute were to burst out of the woods and pierce an arrow through my chest, I will have at least experienced my very first kiss.


	11. Rose in a Thorn Bush

**Author's Note: Finally, another update! I'm sorry if this chapter isn't very good. I've been busy as you know, and haven't had a lot of opportunities to update very frequently. I'd like to thank my loyal reviewers, once again. You guys can lift my spirits like nothing else! :D Please continue to review, and if you see any errors please don't be afraid to point them out. I'm very grateful for your patronage.  
**

* * *

I'm not sure where exactly last night ended and today began. I'm not even sure when I fell asleep, or if I even slept at all. Because it all felt like a dream. I don't really feel anything at the moment, but maybe it just hasn't hit me yet. I'm just sitting here, in my sleeping bag, watching Cato and Clove sleep. It's all my foggy and half conscious mind has the capacity to focus on. They're both so loud, I can't help but smile as their snores almost harmonize into what could be a very abstract song. Like nearly every morning, the sky is an incandescent white, and the dark treetops give it a good contrast. It reminds me of how badly I miss creating artwork. I haven't painted in what feels like centuries, and I haven't even thought of it until now. But thinking back on it, the last piece I made was a portrait of Katniss, right before the Reaping. I shudder. I just don't want to think about her. I don't really want to think about anyone in Twelve, who are more than likely casting down their well-deserved judgments on me. Because last night, the boy lying in the sleeping bag beside me, whose face looks almost angelic in slumber...

He kissed me.

And it felt amazing.

I touch my lips as if they're a replay button of that moment. But I'm not supposed to feel this way. This isn't what the Capitol wanted, is it? No. The whole country wanted me to fall in love with Katniss. I'm sure Haymitch knows more about the way the majority of people think than I do, anyway. Maybe that's why he wanted me to profess love for her in the interview. But whatever the case, things obviously didn't turn out that way. A cold sweat comes over me. I'm trying to decide which is worse: facing a immediate and quick death at the hand of a Tribute, or facing brutal and slow condemnation back home. Stricken by a sword, or mauled by a Peacekeeper. I bury my face in my hands. Why can't I just learn to control my emotions? I could have just acted like I didn't return the feelings, even though I clearly did. But that brings me to a knew level of thought. What_ are _his feelings, anyway? He never specified if he felt anything for _me_, aside from actually kissing me. I asked him if he wanted a guy, and he said yes. But he never narrowed it down to me in particular. What are we? Obviously, we can't date in the arena. Watching the Capitol's projection of dead Tributes over grilled, leathery game doesn't exactly constitute as a classic dinner-and-movie outing. I don't think we're just friends, because friends don't usually kiss each other like that. Are we so starved of warmth and love that it's come down to using each other to obtain it? The thought of being used to quench a need for affection leaves me with a bitter emotion in my stomach, one that I can only identify as rejection. Manipulation, if you will. And then I'd feel like an idiot for playing along with it. But now I'm just jumping to conclusions. Maybe, by some lick of a chance, he's actually feeling the same attraction for me that I feel towards him. Wouldn't that just be nice? I sigh. The kiss in my dream was much better, because this indigestible mix of confusion, guilt and fear didn't follow it like a hangover the next morning.

I sit up and stretch. The morning is silent, once again. I wonder who will die today, if anyone does. All I know is that the Capitol must be getting terribly bored of the sparsely timed deaths that are barely even occurring anymore. And anyone who's ever watched a Hunger Games knows that when the Capitol gets bored, the Gamemakers set up plenty of mortal traps to exterminate Tributes more quickly and efficiently.  
"Mmm... What's this?" I hear a croak from my side. I turn to see Cato, barely awake, holding a decent-sized silver thermos. A parachute is attached. He opens the lid, letting a wave of fragrant steam explode onto his face.  
"What is it?" I ask.  
Noticing me, he closes the lid and makes eye contact. "It's broth. One of the sponsors must have sent it."  
"Look," I say, spotting a white piece of paper suspended by a string on the lid. "What's that?"  
I point to the paper. He unfolds it, reading it aloud:  
"Keep up the good work, guys. The sponsors loved it. -Enobaria."  
The look on Cato's face tells me that we both know what the note is referring to. Still, after a brief lull, no one mentions anything.  
"Enobaria?" I question.  
"She's our mentor." Cato says, handing me the thermos after taking a drink. "Who's yours?"  
"Haymitch Abernathy and Effie Trinket." I say.  
"I don't know them, but that's cool."  
I take a sip of the broth. So refreshing. I can almost feel the nutrients fortifying my blood from a single sip. I gulp down as much as I can without being rude.  
"Here," I say, handing it to him. "You should have some."  
"I'm really not hungry." He says, thinly.  
"Not hungry? You haven't eaten for an entire day." I say, in disbelief. Why won't he eat? If I'm famished, he must be on the brink of starvation. Teenage boys are known for their uncannily frequent and plentiful consumption of food. With Cato's muscle mass, it's sort of imperative that he takes in the fuel.  
He sighs, looking up to the sky. "I know. I'm just not feeling hungry. Save some for Clove, though."  
Yet another awkward silence drifts into our midst. I can tell something is definitely wrong. I wonder if he's thinking the same thing about last night. What happened between he and I? I wish I could see into his mind and just spectate his thoughts. It'd make things much simple. I'd feel much more sane, not having to play a guessing game with myself to gauge his feelings. But since the human mind isn't innovative and advanced that way, I'll have to resort to less invasive ways. I figure I'll just ask. What harm could it possibly do at this point?  
"Um, Cato," I begin. What do I say? Well, this might be a bit more difficult than I thought.  
"Hmm?" he grunts, without making eye contact.  
"Well, um, you remember last night?"  
I could just smack myself in the face right now. That sounded brilliantly stupid.  
"No Peeta, I don't." he says, sarcastically. "It wasn't even twenty four hours ago, of course I remember it."  
I force a chuckle out of my calamity. "Well, I know you remember it. I was just wondering, well, how did you feel about it?"  
A shade of pink flashes across his cheek. I'm sure he's just as nervous as I am, because this is a really awkward topic. "Well, do I have to spell it out for you? It should be obvious." he says, hastily.  
"No need to get defensive." I tell him. "I just wanted to know if you felt the same way I did."

Before he has a chance to answer, a loud explosion rocks the arena. It isn't a cannon boom. No, that was much too loud. Like a pair of deer in the headlights, our attention is completely focused at the trees where the sound seems to have came from.  
"It's the Cornucopia." he says, quietly.  
"You mean, the mines?" I correct him with sarcasm.  
His eyebrows furrow. "Don't get smart with me, you know what I'm talking about."  
"I was just joking, Cato." Yeah, I'm really starting to feel the love.  
"Start packing our stuff. We've got to go." he orders, the irritation in his voice budding into anger.  
I'm not sure why, but I obey. I guess he's already upset enough, he doesn't need me defying him and stepping in his way. While I'm stuffing everything in the two backpacks, Clove stirs in her sleeping bag, probably waking up from the loud noise. Impatiently, Cato stomps up and crouches next to her, shaking the girl until she jolts awake.  
"Clove!" he whispers loudly. "That bastard blew up our supplies. Let's go."  
She stretches, her half-conscious mind trying to take in and process everything that he's saying. "Who? Jayel? Where are we going?" she stammers, shivering from her ailment. "I'm so cold, Cato."  
"I'll tell you on the way, just come on."  
"Where's Marvel?" she asks.  
Cato stops in his tracks. Her question seems to freeze the moment, as both of us stop our rushing around to look at her expectant face.  
"He's dead." Cato says, cold and resolute.  
Tears well up in her brown doe eyes. "Dead...?"  
Cato sighs, realizing he might have been too harsh in breaking the news. "Look, you can't cry on public television. Try to suck it up, and let's go."

It's a hard concept to face, but it's for her own good. Showing weakness in the Games, in any form, is frowned upon in the Capitol. Tributes lose sponsors all the time because of it, and in past Games, I've seen the Gamemakers just eliminate the Tributes who cried. They've killed them right on the spot by bolts of lightning, forest fires, whatever they could muster up to make their deaths quick. Like they never even mattered. Understanding this, Clove asserts herself and gets to her feet as quickly as possible, rolling up her sleeping bag and carrying it under her arm. We all run towards the Cornucopia, as the crisp morning air hitting our faces completes the process of waking us up. My foot has completely healed, and I can tell because not only is the pain absent, but I'm keeping up so close with Cato. Clove is still convalescent, chugging along a few feet behind us. I can't help but occasionally look back at her tear-stained face, trying to be strong as best as she can. It makes the Capitol look even more disgusting to me than I already thought it was. Here is the girl that they've set up as a bloodthirsty, ruthless Career. But in reality, she's got feelings and a beating heart, a compassionate one at that. And they've distorted her image, depriving her of all emotion. Restricting her from it. That's almost as merciless as giving her to the Games in the first place. Why did she volunteer? Moreover, why did anyone _let _her volunteer? My thoughts are definitely running faster than my feet at the moment. But before I know it, we've reached the clearing in the trees that acts as a window to the field of the Cornucopia. We take a moment and watch what's going on out there. Sure enough, the ground is covered in ashes, and the green grass has been misconstrued into a mess of soot and soil. Jayel, panicking on his knees, is pulling on his hair, staring forlornly at the ground. He knows his fate, and that it's only a matter of time before he's to receive it. If I were him, I too would be a little racked by Cato's venomous words that promised me death if I were to mess up something like those mines.

Finally, Cato takes the first vehement step onto the field. Clove and I follow him sheepishly, all of us silent. Cato is fuming, walking hastily and headstrong toward the scene. Today isn't a good one for anybody to step in his way. I've never seen him this angry before, and I'm not going to lie, I'm a little scared. Once we've reached the Cornucopia, Jayel stands to face Cato. His knees are wobbling, and his forehead is sweating profusely.  
Clove and I watch as Cato marches up to him, standing immediately before him and staring down into his face.  
"I promise, I didn't do anything." Jayel testifies, his voice trembling just as much as the rest of his body.  
"The hell you didn't!" Cato roars in his face, sadistically smirking. "You're fucked, Three."  
"Please-" Jayel begins.

But it's too late. Cato, with his bare hands, snaps his neck.

The cannon booms. Jayel falls on the ground, limp as a noodle. His eyes are still bulging in fear. I can't stop staring at his carcass... Mainly because I don't want to face the monster who killed him. My blood is frozen in my veins, and every muscle in my body feels suspended. I can't even scream if I wanted to. Where is the gentle and confident guy that gave me my first kiss last night? Surely, it isn't the one pacing around the Cornucopia, surveying the damage and muttering obscenities. I feel disgusted with myself. Why in the world did I consent to him last night? I still have no idea what he was thinking when he did it. For all I know, he could have just been using me for that canteen of broth, knowing the sponsors would enjoy the show. Before I saw him kill Jayel, I would have told myself that Cato would never do something like that to me. But now, I'm hazy as to who he even is right now. It's like he's been possessed by some otherworldly, indignant demon. Today, he's been acting just like the Capitol expects him to. Merciless. Void of emotion. Like a classic, stereotypical Career Tribute. And it sickens me. But I really don't have much time to be sickened by Cato's antics. Because before I know it, a high-pitched scream pierces the air. Whipping around to look behind me, I find Clove, laying on the ground, with an arrow through her chest.  
"Clove!" I yell, crouching at her side. Tears are streaming down her face, and she's choking up blood. I don't care if it makes me look weak, but tears gather in my eyes. What can I do to save her? I run my fingers through her hair, letting hot tears trickle down my cheek. The cannon booms again, but Clove is still breathing. I look up and see Cato's sword pierced through the District Eight boy's chest. His bow and arrow have fallen on the ground beside him.  
I turn my attention back to Clove. Before I know it, Cato is on his knees, at her other side.  
"Clove, stay with me!" he yells, placing his hand gently on her face. It's the most heartfelt thing he's done all day, but it's not like yelling can do anything right now.

"Peeta..." she stammers, my name barely escaping her blood-stained lips.  
Her eyes focus straight ahead, and her wounded chest falls dormant of any respiration. The cannon sounds again. Clove is dead. I cover my face with my hands. My nose is burning, and tears are escaping my eyes after every sporadic breath. I don't care who sees me, but I can't cry. I try to refrain my tears, bating my breath. Clove held a lot of significance to me in the few days I knew her. I knew it would come down to this one of these days. And I knew it'd be hard on me. Metaphorically, she was just like a brave, red rose in a field of thorns, struggling to keep herself intact despite the obstacles choking her back. She was so dependent on us. Every time I looked at her, her vibrant eyes told me that she believed we could keep her safe. And evidently, we couldn't. I take my hands away from my face, in time to see Cato remove the arrow from her chest, take off his jacket and wrap it around her shoulders. I don't even care that it's the same jacket he loaned to me. The girl lying before me is obviously much colder than I've ever been. I can't help but blubber out more tears upon looking at her.  
Cato places his hand on my shoulder, with less force than I expected. "Come on, Peeta," he says softly, his voice ridden with sorrow. "You can't cry. Stop. We've done all we can do."  
Hesitantly, I stand, readying myself to leave the girl's side. Her death seemed to sober Cato's rage, because he's being surprisingly docile at the moment. I take a moment to take one last look at Clove before turning to walk away. Her battered body tells me I've got no other choice but to leave.  
"Come on." Cato prompts again, this time offering his hand out to me.  
As wary as I should be about him after watching him brutally murder two Tributes, I set my palm trustingly against his. His fingers intertwine with mine, which is a much more intimate gesture than any way he's held my hand in the past few days. Why? Why is he even doing this? Is it for the sponsors? We begin to walk solemnly toward the woods, not speaking a word. Right now, I don't care what his intentions are. I just need the physical affection for support.

A figure in the distance catches my eye. Curled up, creeping slowly across the ground. Even though we aren't moving in the same direction, I analyze it. A quiver on its back, an ectomorphic frame, and a dark braid falling just above where I remembered it to fall. Katniss Everdeen. Guilt tugs on the strings of my heart as I watch the injured girl crawl away toward a different sect of the woods. I'm supposed to be protecting her right now. She catches me staring at her, and her eyes linger to study me. I couldn't ask for worse timing. Here I am, locked hand in hand with Cato, having just mourned the death of one of her adversaries. I feel ashamed, like I should be terribly remorseful for the entire path I've taken in the Games. But strangely, I don't. I just feel like I've betrayed her, and the look on her face tells me that I have. It asks me something like, "How could you do this to me, Peeta?". And I don't want to face it. The country, if not the world, already knows what a Judas I am, and I see no reason to dote on it in my own mind. I look away and keep walking with Cato. I can only hope that he still remembers his oath regarding the Girl on Fire.

Soon, we're shielded once more by brush. We're not vulnerable in the open anymore. I feel more within my element, but something feels very strange right now. Something that wasn't there before. Maybe it's my feelings for Katniss that have fell by the wayside. Maybe it's the absence of our short-lived and beloved ally. Maybe it's the fact I feel somewhat healthy today.

No. It's the fact that now Cato and I are vying for survival on our own, just he and I.

He sits on a log, burying his face in his hands. Confused by his action, I sit down beside him. "Cato?"  
"Damnit." a muffled voice escapes through his fingers.  
It's kind of a risky move, but I caress his back. I mean it to be a supportive gesture, but the fact I can feel the stone-solid muscles in his back threatens to blur my motive. "What's wrong?" I ask, ignoring the aphrodisiac.  
"Isn't it obvious?" he spews out. His voice is shaking like he, too, is resisting a breakdown. "You're pretty torn up about it, too."  
I sigh, feeling the sting of the urge to cry current through my sinuses. Means that we can't use tears to mourn the girl, we use silence instead. It's at this point that I realize Cato is sort of my rock of strength right now. He's the only reason I haven't completely lost my sanity through the Games. Just to see his endurance ability over time has inspired me to push myself to be tough. But I'm also aware that he's a real person, as I can see right now. He's got fragile feelings that he tries to cover up with a mask of cockiness, like every Career is expected to. But he's lived like a Career long before ever becoming one. According to what he's told me, it seems like he's had to be a slave to misery and abuse for most of his life. Always having to suck it up and be strong.  
He breaks the silence, his generally loud voice slightly hushed by his anguish. "She's gone, Peeta. She's gone, and there's not a fucking thing I can do about it."  
"Neither of us can, Cato." I say, with a sigh. "I just wish it didn't have to happen."  
"You know, I think I hallucinated about this the other day, when I got stung. Because I swear I've seen this before. I knew she was going to die." he says.  
Somehow, I feel a bit gratified. Like I just acquired a piece of the puzzle of Cato's mind that I'm trying to put together in my head. "Did you have a lot of visions?" I ask.  
"Yeah, and it's probably obvious to you what the other ones were. But her death was seriously in there." he says, his voice beginning to break.  
I'm flattered by his openness. Maybe he's finally starting to take off that mask. "Why did she even volunteer, anyway?" I probe.  
He hesitates, taking the moment to pull himself back together to answer my question. "She said her family was poor. They needed the profits of having her as a victor."  
"There are poor people in Two?" I ask, trying to revert the conversation away from Clove. If, by some chance, Cato were to break down and cry, I couldn't help but do the same.  
"Yeah, of course there are. Isn't there a lower class and an upper class in Twelve?"  
My mind strolls back through my hometown, remembering the difference between the Hob dwellers and the Victor's Village. I've always thought it was unfair that one part of a unified District should be wealthier than another. But maybe that was because I was always on the lower end of the social class. "Yeah, I guess there are."  
Cato seems to be deep in thought, his eyes not focusing on anything in particular. He shakes his head. "Damn, she was even generous to come here and die for her family."  
"Well, Cato, I didn't know her as well as you did, but she was almost like a little sister to me." I tell him.  
"I didn't know her that well either, but I guess it was the same way for me." he says. His voice sounds oblivious and thoughtful.  
I let a brief moment of quiet sweep over us before standing up. "Well, we should probably go to the lake, like we planned to yesterday. We're not getting any more hydrated just sitting here, right?" I say, forcing a smile.  
Cato looks up, and I'm grateful to see even a slight smile graze his lips. "Yeah, you're right. Let's go."

No matter who's accompanying me, it seems to be routine to suspend conversation while we're walking. Maybe it's because we're always traveling at a jogging speed, and just can't spare the extra breath that a word would require. It'd be the perfect time to talk, though. I have so many questions that I just need to have answered by him. What does he feel about me? A ray of hope that derived from our previous conversation tells me that there was more of a reason behind his kiss than just entertaining sponsors - like, there could be something there. But what? Does he know how I feel about him? I never really did disclose how much I'm attached to him. I just wasn't sure if I was ready to. The timing would have sucked, too. We went to sleep almost immediately after the incident.  
"We should probably hunt before we set up camp for tonight." He says. I can't be more thankful that he took it upon himself to break the silence.  
"Isn't the broth enough for today?"  
"Of course not," he pants. "We need solid meat. That broth's got about as much protein as a rock."  
"True." I say. I don't object. If it weren't for all the knots in my gut that came with being nervous around Cato, the fact that I'm starving would be a lot more prevalent.  
Quite some time seems to pass before any more words are exchanged. But it really isn't awkward. We're not really here to make conversation with each other in the first place, so I guess every word or gesture exchanged between Tributes is simply a bonus in the entertainment. I just can't help but wonder just how enthused they are by all of my brazen mistakes I'm making in my love life, if it constitutes as one. Finally, the lake appears in view. It's really not that long of a walk when you're healthy and capable of walking it. In fact, we run toward the shimmering water at full speed.

"Oh, finally." Cato says, taking off his backpack and stretching. "We get to stop smelling like shit today."  
"Yeah, not showering for almost five days is pretty disgusting." I add, sitting down on the edge of the lake.  
I can't help but stare - and feel slightly aroused - when Cato begins to remove his clothes. Eight, clearly defined abdominal muscles, bulging pectoral muscles and a deep V-shape on his lower stomach that leads into his boxers make it difficult to ignore him. I can't deny it. He's definitely sexy. How in the world is someone like him attracted to someone like me?  
"Hey, why don't you put your eyes back in your head?" he says, smiling haughtily.  
I blush, quickly looking away to be respectful. As Effie would prod me, where are my manners? "Sorry. I guess I'm just zoning out a lot lately."  
Cato snickers. "Yeah, I guess that's it. The fact I'm ripped has nothing to do with it."  
I just laugh. There's nothing I can say to deny it. "Whatever, Cato."  
After stalling my eyes for a few minutes, I hear a loud splash and decide it's alright to look. All of his clothes are lying in a heap where he formerly stood. His head is peeking out of the water, and his sandy blonde hair is swept slightly over his forehead.  
He lets out a hushed moan. "Ahh... The water's great. Aren't you gonna take a bath?"  
"Yeah, I'll be right there." I say, sounding more staunch than I actually am.  
I know what this means: I'll have to take off my clothes, too. Believe me, I'm no Greek idol when it comes to stature. And it's going to be more than humbling to be naked and vulnerable in Cato's presence. I sigh, removing my shirt, pants, boxers and every other object of clothing as quickly as possible before stepping down into the lake. Covering my groin with my forearms, I touch the bottom of the lake with my foot to test it's depth. There's another thing for me to be ashamed of: I can't swim to save my life. But the cool water definitely feels great as it caresses every inch of me. It seems to make my skin forget that it was ever subject to a snare or poison ivy.  
"Oh, you're right, Cato, this is fantastic." I say, twisting and turning freely in the heavy ripples.  
"You're not even in the deep part. It feels better over here." he tells me, his eyes closed in pleasure.  
I hesitate. It's almost like he's forcing me to admit my weakness. "Actually, Cato, this is really embarrassing, but-"  
"You can't swim, can you?" He interrupts, raising an eyebrow.  
Well, I'm a little relieved I didn't have to say it myself. "Yeah... There really weren't many lakes in Twelve."  
Cato glides through the water, moving closer to me. "Here, do it like this. Just push through the water with your arms." He shows me a simple stroke, kicking his legs and creating a current to carry himself through. I try to memorize the pattern of his movements, but it's difficult when the shape of his body offers a formidable distraction.  
He stops, panting a little from the exertion. "Now you try it."  
I'm determined not to make a fool of myself. Trying to recall the pattern, I push the water to my sides and kick my legs, but they won't move fast enough. I kick them faster, hoping that'll give me a boost. But it doesn't. In fact, I'm moving so slowly that my head dunks under the water. My heart starts to race. It's got to be the weirdest feeling ever - water entering your mouth and nose the minute you breath. Frantically, I surface, struggling for a breath of air. Before I know it, Cato's directly in front of me, and I'm snorting water out of my face all over his chest. So much for not looking like an idiot.  
Cato laughs. "It's fine, you'll get it soon. It takes a long time to be a good swimmer like I am."  
I laugh too, trying to make light of my calamity. It's the best thing I can do at this point, right? At least it offers our minds a good break from mourning Clove. "Well, I'm sure I look pretty stupid to the cameras."  
He pats me on the back. It kind of stings, though, because his hand is wet. "Don't worry about it. Hey, did you feel that?"  
"Feel what?"  
"It's starting to rain." He says, holding out his hand. "If you can't swim, I doubt you're going to want to be caught naked in a flooded lake."  
I shudder. The mere thought of another Tribute seeing me in the nude disconcerts me. Hell, even Cato seeing me makes me nervous.  
"Come on." He says, gesturing toward our heaps of clothes. We float toward the edge of the lake and hoist ourselves up. The rain begins to beat down harder, telling us it's time to hurry to shelter of some sort. We plaster our clothes on as quickly as possible, but not before I catch a glimpse of him in his full-frontal, nude glory. If I had to guess, I'd say he was at least nine inches. Feeling myself getting a bit solid from the sight of his manhood, I make a point to put my boxers and pants on first and foremost. When we've equipped all of our clothes, weapons and backpacks, we dart away towards the thick forest in the direction opposite the Cornucopia.

"Where are we going?" I pant, my ears popping from the transition of sea to land.  
"I don't know," he says, dodging thickets of brush and branches. "To find shelter of some sort."  
We run for what feels like ages. Soon, the rain feels heavy as drops of blood, and we've run out of breath. Finally, I come to a much needed stop, and Cato does as well.  
"What about that cave, over there?" He breathes out heavily, pointing to a stone cavern about forty yards away.  
I stare into the dark entrance, perhaps a bit skeptical. "Well, what if Thresh or the other guy is in there?" I say, excluding Katniss' name on purpose. I wouldn't even know what to do if we were to find her.  
"I've got my sword. I'll take care of it." he reassures.  
I don't object. The rain is almost to the point of smacking me on the head, and the humid mist it creates is making it harder and harder to see out here. At this point, I'll take whatever we can find. "Sounds good to me, then. Let's go."


	12. A Fiery Predicament

**Author's Note: Wooah. Sorry about the hiatus. I was incredibly busy and needed a break from writing. But as you can all see, I've reached somewhat of the turning point of the story. Somewhat of it. Now, more than ever, I need constructive criticism. A few questions I have are, is Cato too OOC? Is Peeta's train of thought too disjointed? And does my dialogue sound like Tommy Wiseau wrote it? (Props to you if you know who that is. xD)**

**But thank you all SOOO MUCH. Trust me, I never expected the amount of care, compassion and attention I've received in this and I'm more grateful than ever for it. You guys are such a blessing, and I hope you all had a wonderful fourth! Please enjoy the story, read and review!  
**

* * *

My battered body collapses against the floor of the cave, struggling for each deep and desperate breath. I watch Cato stretch his arms above his head, his eyes squeezed shut as he, too, tries to regain the ability to breathe. Smoothing back the wet hair that's nearly glued to my forehead, I remember our days training at the Capitol. Never would he and I have received the scores of eight and ten from the Gamemakers with the scarce amount of strength we have right now. We've gotten so much weaker. Even the mere idea of lifting a heavy weight makes me a bit stertorous. I wonder how Cato's holding up internally. I mean, he's still perfectly virile and brawny on the outside, but he must be deteriorating in one way or another. I'm beginning to worry for him. I don't care how strong of a Career he is, or how keen his survival skills are. The Games aren't easy on anyone, and I care just as much about putting food in his mouth as putting it in mine. It's funny how much my feelings for him have transitioned over such a short period of time. I guess being mutually dependent on someone for days on end can make you feel like you've known them forever. From assuming he was an odious monster to listening to his back story, I came to appreciate him as an ally. Maybe even a friend. I told myself not to get attached to him, but irony decided to meddle with my intents. Now, I'm not exactly sure where the lines blurred, and those feelings became more than platonic. And if I'm not even sure how my own feelings have shifted, I'm baffled from trying to read his. We just kissed last night, and even though we started talking about it in the morning, we never finished. The entire day has gone by without any mention of it. The overflowing cup of questions in my mind is stirring up a sickness in my gut. Why did he kiss me? Does he even feel anything like what I've been feeling for him? And why hasn't he said anything about it? This is definitely something I hate about the Games. I find myself focusing so intently on the crucial task at hand, like obtaining food or shelter, that I let my emotions build up like a dam that bursts into my heart whenever my mind has a spare moment.

The rain creates a robust symphony outside of our cave, each heavy raindrop bursting in unison as it crashes upon everything outside. Sword in hand, Cato stomps around and inspects every inch of rock and stalactite in the vicinity for any hints of a Tribute. He does this for an extended period of time, which makes me think he's just bored and needs something to fill the time.

"I think we're safe, Cato." I say, emptying my backpack.

"Yeah, we're safe from the other Tributes, but we're still starving."

I lay out my sleeping bag on the cool, stone floor. "Well, I don't really think there's any food in here, and the rain kind of screwed up our plans to go hunting."

He watches me for a minute, as if to ponder a possible solution. I can only hope that the idea of cannibalism isn't conjuring up in his mind.

"Don't we still have that thermos of broth?" I ask.

He scoffs. "Please. I won't be satisfied with just that."

"Sadly, it's the only thing we've got. It's better than nothing."

He sighs, taking the thermos out of his backpack and handing it to me. The note from Enobaria is still dangling off of the lid. Half of me wants to rip it off and cast it into the storm outside, but the bolder half wants to use it as a scapegoat to talk about what it represents. But instead of paying it any attention, I open the lid and thirstily gulp the salty liquid.

"Here, have some." I tell him, holding it out to offer. "You haven't eaten since yesterday."

"Neither have you." he says, his arms crossed in defiance.

I probe the thermos at him more. "What do you have against this broth? You need food just as much as I do."

He takes it after a brief hesitance, his face scrunched in disgust at the few swigs he takes. "This barely constitutes as food."

"I know, but until we find something more substantial, it'll have to do."

He wanders over to the mouth of the cave, staring forlornly outside. "I wish this fucking rain would let up so I could go kill us some decent game."

In the process of unloading my backpack, I come across our empty canteens. I guess we got so distracted by bathing and swimming that we forgot to refill them.

"Well, we did forget to fill these up, maybe the rain serves us a purpose after all." I hand him one of the silver tins. "Just stick it outside."

"Alright." He does as I suggest, without any objection. I'm not going to lie, it makes me feel good to know someone's actually listening to me, and that I'm not just following the decisions of a pack anymore.

"Cato, are we even considered Careers anymore?"

He slides his back down against the wall, sitting about a foot away from me on the floor of the cave. "I guess not, considering everyone else is dead."

"I can't believe it all happened so fast." I say, my mind recapping Clove's grievous end.

"I can. Career bonds don't usually last that long. Whether everyone gets killed off or kills each other, they're just fickle."

"How do you know so much about the Games, anyway? You talk like a Gamemaker sometimes."

He sighs, with just the right inflection that makes him sound hopeless and defeated. "I've watched them all my life. I'm sure I've watched every last snippet of Oslo's Games at least a million times."

"I just don't get why anyone would volunteer to come out here and starve to death."

He turns his attention to the ground and fidgets with a stray pebble. "Well, I had one hell of a reason to."

"Cato, you confuse me sometimes." I blurt out, making sure I don't sound too firm.

"Do I?"

"Yeah," I begin, feeling the adrenaline from speaking my mind bursting through the facade of callousness I was putting up all day. But I manage to keep at least a loose reign on my words, deciding I won't mention last night just yet.

"I just don't understand why you do the things you do. I don't really understand the link between you and your past. It just all seems so detached from who you are right now, if that makes any sense."

Silence sweeps over us. I find myself watching him with bated breath, almost as if I were hunting prey. I'm hanging on every second waiting for a response.

"It just doesn't affect me anymore." he says, plainly.

"How could it not affect you anymore? It's tragic."

Cato raises an eyebrow, and our gazes meet. "Well, now that the whole country knows that I've told you about it, I might as well tell you about the rest."

"There's more?"

He hesitates, stretching his arms behind his head. "I didn't wan't to live at home. So I volunteered for the Games, hoping that being a victor would give me more power. That, or I'd just be freed from everything. Like my brother. I didn't plan to care, and it seemed easy. So I went through the motions. Training, making alliances, you know, Tribute stuff. But then I met someone here, and it made not caring one hell of a lot harder."

The fast-paced rhythm of my heartbeat rocks my whole body into another cold sweat as our eyes meet. His eyes penetrates past mine, almost like he's looking into my thoughts.

"And who was that?" I ask coyly, trying not to sound too wiry or eager.

"Damn it, Peeta, do I really have to spell it out for you?" he chuckles.

That adrenal tenseness from last night returns in its full strength as my mind struggles to keep up with what's going on. Two muscular arms envelope my waist, pulling me in closer. Before I know it, my face is fervent, and the source of the heat is his lips smashed against mine. Once again, it feels perfect. I wish I didn't have to pull away to discuss why we were doing it, because all that matters to both my head and my body is how good it feels. But the practical side of me pulls away, opens my eyes and stares straight into his. It goes on like this for a minute or two, both of us just reading each other's faces like an engrossing novel. Heavy breaths escape his slightly parted lips. He's hungry for another kiss, but I feel sobered. My rush of nerves is gone, and now I just want to ease my mind and get to the root of his motives.

"Why?" The word crawls shyly out of my mouth. "Why do you-"

I'm interrupted by his finger pressed to my lips. I feel myself flush all over again. "Peeta," he says, flashing a reassuring smile. "I know you like me. It doesn't take a genius to figure that out."

"Don't you like me too?" I blurt out. Gosh, I sound so desperate. "I mean, you should like someone if you're going to kiss them."

He sits back, almost like what I've said repulsed him, or otherwise killed the mood. I'm sure it did, because even with that last sentence, I still sounded like a pining schoolgirl.

"Well, yeah. I do. But you and I both know we can't be together. There's no way the two of us can make it out of here alive."

I stare down at the stitching pattern in the sleeping bag, wishing that for just one day I could forget about the reality of the Games. "I know." I mutter despondently.

"Even if we did, we'd hardly survive back in our Districts. The people in Two wouldn't be satisfied with this kind of weakness from a victor. And I'm sure whatever would happen to you in Twelve wouldn't be good, either."

The haunting image of the Peacekeeper's beatings return to my mind, as I remember that they receive their training from District Two. "No. It wouldn't be good at all. The last guy who did this kind of thing got mauled by a Peacekeeper."

Both of us sigh, the ever-so cumbersome silence wedging its way between us. Somehow, we both think we can justify it by pretending to watch the rain fall over the rest of the arena. The constant drops sound like thousands of melancholy drum rolls, just egging on our bittersweet moment. I can't decide whether I'm content and euphoric from kissing him, or if I feel like brooding over the context. There's something to be said about how relationship work in the arena. They're fast-paced, because there isn't much time to let things properly. Most of them are easily broken by a selfish need to survive, but I don't think that will be the case here, since both of us are adament about not killing each other. In one of the previous Games, a few years back, the Tributes from District Four tried to maintain a relationship. It was sweet, and everyone sponsored them, until the girl stabbed the unwitting boy in his sleep. I could never do something like that. Not to Cato, not to anyone. He wouldn't do that to me either, right?

A familiar beeping sound infiltrates the silence as our eyes follow a parachuted, silver box down to the mouth of the cave. Before it even has a chance to land, Cato's standing right there, eager to receive it.

"I think the sponsors like it when we kiss." I tell him, feeling myself start to smile.

"I'm sure they do." He kneels on the floor next to me, opening our gift. I pick up the soggy little note that's dangling by a thread on the parachute. As courtesy calls, always read the card before opening the present. Except I could care less about courtesy, I'm simply just curious what it says.  
"Not exactly my pleasure to watch, but the other sponsors like it. And seriously, you call _that_ a kiss? - H"

Haymitch. I didn't think he was in support of our relationship, or whatever it is. But at least he's going along with it, like the other sponsors. I sigh in relief.

"Oh, hell yes! We got some cigarettes!" Cato exclaims, ripping the plastic film off of the small box.

"Why don't you open the rest of it first?"

Cato rolls his eyes. "Whatever, I just want a smoke. I've been dying for one since we had some in the observatory."

Great. Now Panem thinks I'm not only a blatant homosexual, but a nicotine addict too. And most of Panem, other than the Capitol and District One, is pretty against homosexuality. I'm not sure about their opinion on nicotine, though.

"I thought you told me to keep your smoking a secret, and now you go and announce it on public television?"

He takes one of the matches out of his backpack, strikes it against the stone, and lights the small stick. "It's not like it matters if they know now. I just didn't want them confiscating my cigarettes at the Capitol."

I feel around for anything else inside the silver box, when my hand finally stumbles across something warm. "Hey, Cato, I think they sent us some food!"

He petishly exhales a puff of smoke, raising an eyebrow. "Real food?"

"Well, let's see." I lift the object out of the box. Not unlike neanderthals encountering fire for the first time, we curiously unwrap the warm, enveloping cloth.

"Hey, a loaf of bread!" I can't help but just be filled with warmth after inhaling the sweet fragrance of the stuff I used to bake.

"That's it? Just plain bread?" Cato says, petishly.

I rip off a spongy piece and stuff my face. I didn't even know I was this hungry until I smelled the buttery loaf. "Come on, it's better than nothing." I say, crumbs falling out of my mouth.

The older boy sighs, rubs out his cigarette and rips off a piece of the bread to taste. His sour expression contorts away. "Not bad."  
"I know. It tastes just like the kind I used to make."

He smiles, letting out a hushed chuckle. Did I say something stupid or something?

"What? Are you laughing at me?"

"No."

I work around the emulsed food in my mouth, shielding it with my hand so he doesn't have to see it when I talk."...Then why are you laughing?"  
He smiles. Not a smirk, but a true, jovial grin. Even though it seems condescending in context, it's kind of refreshing to see him smile.

"Because you're cute when you're pigging out on bread."

I swallow before letting a light chuckle escape me. "Thanks, I guess."

As Cato tears off another hunk of the bread, the Capitol anthem resonates through the rain. The sun has already set? I didn't even notice the sky change. It's almost like someone pulled a black sheet over a sunny day. I try to focus on the image projection in the sky, which proves itself a bit difficult due to the muddle of rain and darkness. But anyone could clearly identify the first sullen face to flash above.

Clove.

The emotions come rolling back as I see the rain pour over her frail face, almost representing the tears for Marvel that she never had a chance to shed. I don't even bother to look at Cato. Not now, and not when Jayel's phlegmatic glare flashes across. After a few moments, the projection flickers out. But for some reason, I just keep staring outside into the rainy night. There's just no use in rehashing these grieving emotions. It's like the regurgitation cycle of a cattle. But unlike them, we're only hurting ourselves by bringing them up. Generally, I feel that pain is best healed when it's brought up and spoken for, but that's another arena social norm different from the world outside. Here, every emotion is best if left dormant. Everyone benefits from numbness here, not burdened with how to step over others on the road to survival.

My thoughts are interrupted by a strong arm slung over my shoulder. "You okay?"

I look up to my left side. Cato is perched next to me, his pale skin almost incandescent in the blackness. "I guess so."

He pulls me in closer so that we're immediately side to side. Embracing the moment, I lean my head on his chest.

"The Games have gone much better than I thought they would."

"How could you say that? Your District partner just died."

Well, so much for keeping the emotions buried. I swear I can be so brazen sometimes. Cato pauses, as if to process what I've just said.

He finally speaks up. "Byt you didn't."

I turn my head to face him. Before I can open my mouth to respond, he's slammed his lips against mine. A consoling rush of nicotine grazes my senses as I lose my line of thought, my mind caving into the moment. I'm literally chilled up the spine as he plays with the hair on the back of my head, so I try my best and reciprocate the gesture. I can't help but smile a little underneath his lips. Once again, it feels shiny and flawless. He opens his mouth slightly, as if to reposition his head to get a better angle on me. I do the same, relocking our lips. The adrenaline rush returns as he brushes his tongue over my lips, holding my body a little tighter. Damn, this feels fantastic... I let him in my mouth, trying my hardest to mirror his movements with my own tongue. I have a feeling that I'm an awful kisser.

He pushes me onto my back, pinning me down so that I'm laying on my sleeping bag, sandwiched between him and the fabric. Our kissing becomes more intense as he flecks the outer corners of my mouth, then finally my chin. I feel a slight tingle from his breath on my neck. I think he knows it, because that's exactly where he trails to next. My gosh, I think I finally understand why Katniss and Gale spend so much time in the woods together.

I can't help but moan as his tongue rolls over my pulse. It feels like he's hitting every possible nerve on my neck. Feeling his solidity jab into my thigh, I gasp for breath. I'm not even being directly stimulated, but the pleasure has escalated and I feel uncannily close to my climatic point.

"Cato..."

He stops immediately, as if I've told him to, breaking out contact and sitting up on his knees at my feet. I prop myself up on my elbows behind my back.

He yawns. "Think we should go to bed? It's getting late."

"Why'd you stop?" I ask, sitting up and asserting myself.

He stands up and stretches. Even though it's dark, I can make out his petty smirk. "Because I've got the upper hand now, Peeta. Besides, you're probably tired too. We've had a long day."

A mix of frustration and humiliation with a splash of guilt concocts in my gut, bottling up into one bitter emotion.

"Alright, if that's what you want." I say, accentuating the exasperation in my voice.

He walks over to his sleeping bag. My ears work just as well as my eyes as I listen to him unzip the sleeping bag and rustle through the fabric to crawl inside. "Goodnight."

Hesitantly, I unzip my sleeping bag and do the same. But I'm not going to say goodnight back. Should I feel guilty? Perhaps I enjoyed that - whatever you want to call it, way too much. Maybe I'm the one that let it go too far. But then I remember his words... he had the upper hand. He was the initiator. So does that mean he's using me? A dash of fear runs down my body. What if he set me up? What if this was all he wanted, and now he's bent on stabbing me in my sleep? No. If that were the case, he'd have probably done more to me. I'm driving myself mad with all these assumptions, trying to answer my own questions, but then questioning all of my answers. My still-active hormones want to revel in the glory of having my first intimate experience, but my mind spoils it by remembering the latter event. It's like biting into a piece of spoiled fruit. Sweet, but sickening. So sickening that you can't even enjoy the tasty part. I yawn. Though my eyes are heavy, and I'm getting weary, I try to fight falling asleep as much as I can, just in case my guess about being stabbed was correct.

* * *

"Attention, Tributes. I repeat, attention, Tributes."

I jerk awake at the sound of the robotic voice abounding through the arena. Cato has woken up as well, yawning and stretching in the same sick manner he did last night. Neither of us say a word to each other.

"There is something each of you desperately need. Food, water, medicine, supplies - it's all at the Cornucopia, right at this very moment. Here in the Hunger Games, we call this occasion a Feast. Take it as the Capitol's gift of appreciation to you."

I can't believe the audacity of the Capitol sometimes. If they appreciate us so much, then why are they throwing us into the arena and ordering us to kill each other? I sigh with frustration, trying to think of something I so desperately need. We're not injured, the canteens outside are overflowing with water, we're well supplied, Cato even has his pack of cigarettes. The only thing that I can conjure up is food, but we can obtain that by hunting. It'd be much safer than to run out on that field and risk our lives for another canteen of broth that I'd have to basically force down Cato's throat.

"And that's not all we're offering to you, Tributes. There's been a slight rule change. Two victors can possibly be crowned, but only if they are from the same District..."

My blood runs cold.

"...And since there are only five Tributes left in the arena, the pair of victors can only originate from District Twelve. The star-crossed lovers."

... Those last few words were by far the most inflected and expressive that I've ever heard from the announcer here. Halfway sugar-coated, and halfway provoking and contemptuous. They seemed to be aimed directly at me. I can't believe it... It's almost as if they're trying to create dissent, as if they're trying to use Katniss to dismantle the ties I've made with Cato. It's like they know what happened last night, and are trying to take advantage of the emotions I'm feeling right now.

"Well?" The other boy probes, watching me curl up in some kind of ball in my sleeping bag. "Wanna talk about fire girl now?"

"What's there to discuss?" I say. My voice comes off a lot colder and cockier than I intend to.

But Cato immediately picks up on my hints of dissent. "Well, first of all I'd like to discuss why you're acting like such a dick this morning."

"I'm not the one who just played you last night, Cato. You're the one acting like a dick. What was that all about?" I say, the volume of my voice escalating. I guess I probably shouldn't have came off that strong, considering he's not only armed but much bigger, and I'm kind of at his mercy right now.

He shakes his head at me. "I didn't play you, I just got fucking tired."

"But you said you had the upper hand. What the hell did that mean?"

He stretches, his voice straining along with his muscles. "It certainly didn't mean I was playing you. When I'm with you, I just get the chance to be dominant and call the shots."

Call the shots? Who does he think he is? "So being dominant means you'll lead me on and treat me like crap?"

"Damnit, just quit trying to assume things! I never led you on! What part of 'I got tired' don't you understand?" He says, his voice escalating indignantly.

"Well, it kind of makes me mad that you just said you had the upper hand. It made me feel like some kind of weak pussy."

He sighs, like he's blowing off some steam. Letting go of his anger, maybe. "No, I don't think that. I mean, I'm obviously stronger than you, but I don't think you're a pussy or anything. You're just... Passive."

"Passive?"

"Yeah. And it makes me feel more dominant than you." He stands up, walking outside to fetch our overflowing canteens. "I guess I should just finish what I start, then."

I sigh, trying not to look at his highly distracting body. "Yeah. You should."

"Speaking of finishing things, do you got any more of that bread?"

"No, but the rain's finally let up. We can hunt today."

"Or we can just go to the Cornucopia. It would be easier to just do that." He shoves the canteens forcefully into his backpack, then grips the straps tightly as if to clarify that that's what he wants to do.

"I guess we could." I agree, through my teeth.

"Then we will. Let's get our shit together and get moving."

I stretch, preparing myself to face what lies ahead. In a determined silence, instead of an awkward one, we gather up all of our supplies, condensing them down to what we can carry on our backs. My stomach is in knots, twisting and churning at the mere thought of running into Katniss at the Cornucopia. Of course she's heard the announcement, and obviously I've crossed her mind. She's crossed mine, too. To return back to the cheering crowds of people from all Districts, as the victors of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games, would be a sensible solution. I could definitely reshape my repute that way, putting on a facade that I've dramatically shifted my feelings from Cato to her. But there's a note of fallacy in the plan.

Cato.

I can't kill him. He's the one who gave me my first kiss. Then again, he did make me pretty upset last night... But I could see his reasoning, if I look at it introspectively. After years of torment from his mother, he's bound to want a taste of dominance. I just happen to be his guinea pig. I know, I'm probably being too thin-skinned and taking things too personally. Maybe he was right, and I really was just tired. I seriously have to grit my teeth at the thought, because being used in any way, shape or form is definitely a serious offense to me. But this wave of meekness, compassion and reverence that I'm feeling just washes away the resent I'd normally feel if it were someone else. Cato gestures for me to follow him out of the cavern. The growling in my stomach pushes my feet to walk over any apprehension I have along the way. We step back out into the arena, where the sun is beating down upon the valley. What bipolar weather the Gamemakers are thrusting upon us.

"So what happens if we see fire girl?"

"Well," I pant, already winded from the brisk pace of my stride. "I don't really know."

I can see Cato bite his lip from the corner of my eye. Every time he does that, it always makes me feel like he's about to say something bold. I pretend not to pay attention, staring off in the distant treetops.

"I'm still keeping my word not to kill you, Peeta." He says quietly, abruptly stopping in his tracks.

I stop alongside him, and we once again make a prolonged eye contact. "I thought you were going to stab me in my sleep last night for a while." I admit.

He laughs, shaking his head. "You can be such an idiot sometimes, you know that?"

I try to laugh at myself. Maybe it was a pretty wild conclusion to leap to. "I guess so."

Two hands cup my face and point it upwards. Before I know it, I'm staring back into his frigid eyes, and my cheeks are burning.

"Since I'm keeping my word, are you keeping yours?"

"Yes," I stammer out, finding myself just as intimidated by his words as I was by his stature when we first met. "I'm not going to kill you."  
He kisses my forehead. "Good."

"I just wish there could be two victors, from different Districts." I say, my tension easing as he steps away.

"Yeah, me too." he mutters.

Through brush and trees, we trek silently for what feels like hours. There's not a single Tribute or animal in sight, almost like the Gamemakers removed all the game in order to force us towards the Cornucopia. They don't care about our well being, as I've more than realized. They want action, they want blood. And it infuriates me that they feel compelled to play with my heart in the process.

Finally, we've reached the clearing in the woods. I can see the Cornucopia. There's our backpacks, side by side. Bright orange with the number two on one, twelve on the other. And standing right over them is the tall silhouette of a huntress, bow in hand. Watching. Waiting.

I'm in a very fiery predicament now.


	13. Decisions

**(PLEASE READ!) Author's Note: Wow, I'm really excited! :D I'm sorry my updates have been so slothfully slow; Life has been throwing me a lot of curve balls lately and it's difficult to find time to write. But I haven't lost the zeal or emotion behind this story. :)**

**One thing I'd like to mention, though. I kind of feel insecure with my grammar skills. Like, I feel like some things seem awkwardly worded or just irrelevant. I would really appreciate some constructive criticism. I know I ask for it in every AN, but I really feel like I need it. When I'm finally done with the last chapter, I'm considering going back and revising the entire thing. ****Please offer me your opinions. Thank you for all the reviews you've given, but please let me know what you think. It makes me really sad when I post up a chapter that I've worked extremely hard on to only earn five reviews. I'm not holding you down to it or anything, but please understand that I need feedback to progress as a writer. :) This is something I really love to do. And I'd like to have at least 100 reviews by the time this is done! Just a personal goal though. :P**

**A few questions I have pertaining to this chapter are,**  
**-Did Katniss's involvement seem lame, forced or overall leave a bad taste in your mouth?**  
**-Was Cato more in character?**  
**-Is Peeta too oblivious or underdeveloped?**

**And I would really like to thank those who have taken the time to review all of my stuff. I really appreciate you more than you'll ever know :) Writing this story has been a fun and fruitful experience thanks to you.**

WholeWheatWaffles

* * *

Just looking at her stance makes me uneasy. I can't make out every curvature of Katniss's facial features, but I have no doubt they're contorting into a menacing glare. The sight of her face from a distance just gives me a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. And she's just watching... almost as if she's just waiting for us to step onto the field so she can shoot arrows through our skulls. Truthfully, I wouldn't blame her for it. To her, I'm the traitor that came in between her and her relationship with Gale back home. That is, if she'll ever get back there. All I know is, I won't be the one to kill her, and if Cato keeps his word, neither will he. A flood of emotions just cascades over me. On one hand, I'm relieved that she's alright. That part of me housing concern for her hasn't completely vanished, and now it's appeased. But on the other, I'm worried - not for myself, but for Cato. Someone like Katniss would be ruthless in the face of danger, and I'm almost positive she sees him as a threat.

"Now what do we do?" I ask the boy that towers above me.

He pauses, as if to think of a strategy. "Well, I see a shield over to her left. If I can nab it somehow without her noticing, we can dodge her bows."

"But we have to pass by her to do that, Cato."

He shrugs. "We can walk around to the other side of the field and enter in that way. Come on."

He grabs my arm and tugs me along, sneaking stealthily along the circumference of the field. It feels like a lot of work for just a loaf of bread, or whatever the sponsors sent us that we're supposedly in dire need of.

"Can't we just hunt?" I ask him in a whisper. "It'd be much easier."

"Come on, Peeta, don't be a coward." he spits back.

Is that what he thinks I am? A coward? "So you're  
telling me you aren't afraid of getting nailed in the chest with an arrow?"

"Well, why do you think-" His sarcastic spiel is interrupted by my stepping on a twig. I grimace at myself, but the glare Cato shoots back at me is definitely worth wincing over. "Nice going."

"I-I," ...I can't think of any sarcastic comeback that I can make to defend myself. "I'm sorry."

Almost at the same time, we stop and see that Katniss is barreling towards us. Why we're still watching her and not running, I don't know. Maybe I just want to prove to Cato that I'm not a coward. Maybe I'm too afraid to move. Still, I brace myself, just waiting for the worst. But as she comes closer, I notice her arrow has no bow, and that she's picked up both of our backpacks. Cato stands tall and tough, drawing his sword and flexing his arms.

"Peeta!" She yells, before coming to an abrupt halt right in front of us.

As prepared as Cato and I probably looked, we both jump back. Who's he calling a coward, now?

"Katniss!"

She seems a bit wary of Cato, but that's understandable. She steps closer to me. An expression very foreign to her flashes across her face. A smile.

"Peeta, I'm glad I found you!" She exclaims.

I'm completely dumbfounded to say the least. Glancing over in his direction, Cato looks just as confused as I. This can't possibly be the same girl that I've always known her to be. But her bow and arrow set looks very familiar. Why is she being so kind? Not even a week ago, she practically beat me against a wall for telling the cameras that I loved her. And even more recently, tried to exterminate me with a furious nest of tracker jackers.

"I didn't know you were looking for me." I say, wearing somewhat of a poker face and trying to sound cordial.

As meek as a deer, she takes a gentle step toward Cato and reverently holds out her hand. "You must be an ally of Peeta's. I'm his District partner. Katniss."

Cato stares at her hand for a minute, as if to conjure up a proper response. Smirking arrogantly, he decides to shake her hand. "Yeah, I know who you are. I'm Cato."

The hint of a resentful glare glosses over her stark, grey eyes. Yet, she remains perfectly composed. "I've seen you guys wandering around. After the announcement about the rule change was made, I just had to figure out some way to meet up."

I shrug, putting on the phoniest smile my face has dared to make since the interviews. "Well, that you did."

She leans in closer to us, speaking with a whisper so quiet, that only the keen ears of a hunter could comprehend it.

"Pardon?" I whisper back, quietly as possible, but it still sounds loud compared to hers.

She glances tentatively around the arena, before leaning in even closer to me. It's now that I realize her face gives off the scent of the same tracker jacker ointment that I'd used on Cato. "I think we can manipulate the sponsors and Gamemakers, so that all three of us could possibly make it out."

"And how the hell do you think we could do that?" He returns, coldly.

Ever so slightly, her eyebrows narrow at him. Streaks of the Katniss Everdeen I've always known are beginning to break through her sugar-coated shell. Emotions start trickling back into my heart. "Well, if we're the last three Tributes left in the arena,they won't have much of a choice, would they?"

"You know the Gamemakers could kill me off in a second." Cato scoffs.

As she contemplates a response, my pulse begins to race. The very thoughts I've been trying so hard to evade have all come crashing down on me. The inevitable death of Cato. The fact that even if I am allowed to return home, I'll be knee-deep in condemnation for all of my sexual experiences, or whatever you call want to call it. The feelings that come from seeing Katniss and Cato, the two people I've at some point been sort of obsessed with, interacting. It's awkward, really. But I try to bat those clouds of thought away from my mind and focus on what kind of plan Katniss might be devising. Because staying alive, like Haymitch told us to do, takes presidence over other petty concerns.

Her voice lowers to an even quieter tone than before."They might not. Not if we're the last Tributes standing. If they're going to allow two victors, they might as well allow all three if Peeta and I refuse to kill you."

"Peeta's already sworn to help me stay alive as long as he can, anyway."  
I can't help but chuckle under my breath about how they're discussing me in third person, like I'm not even here.

"Well, I'll make the oath, too. I won't kill you." She says, hollowly, without eye contact. "But I expect the same from you."

"I've already made an oath to spare you."

"With Peeta?" The tone in her voice indicates more curiosity than surprise.

Cato rolls his eyes. "No, with my backpack. Of course it was with Peeta."

"You don't have to be sarcastic all the time." She says, in the exact same tone she adapted in the early mornings at the Capitol.

"I was only sarcastic because you deserved it."

The growing dissent between these two ties my stomach in a knot. These next few days will be unbearably long. That is, if we're still alive to endure them. As much as I'd like to believe her, I just can't help but be a tad bit skeptical about how all of this happened. Katniss isn't sweet and patient. In fact, she's completely at the other end of the spectrum. She's very gruff. Harsh, even. But I don't know her to be dishonest or manipulative, so I don't see why I shouldn't believe her. Still, this whole predicament just reeks of discrepancy. Watching his apprehensive face, I have to wonder if Cato actually believes her. And does she know what's going on between he and I? I've got no idea how much she's seen of the stuff we've done, or if she's seen any at all. Somehow, I'd be kind of ashamed if she found out. Not because I don't like Cato, but because for all she knows I'm still head over heels for her.

"Well, whatever. I got all of our backpacks. Here." She tosses the District Two backpack to Cato, and the Twelve one to me. I barely catch it by quickly grasping one of the straps.  
Already, Cato's torn the zipper open and is ravenously devouring some strips of jerkied beef. I don't blame him, nor do I hesitate to open my bag as well. But before I'm able to reach the protein-laden treasure, I'm interrupted by a firm hand grasping my wrist. I can't help but blush from feeling her touch.

"You know, we really should go someplace a little less obvious before you two start stuffing your faces." Katniss suggests, staring at me with those pretty eyes of hers. Wait, did I just acknowledge her as pretty? I should know better than to think that. This girl's basically the female adaption of Haymitch. She made me miserable when I liked her. She _isn't_ pretty, I tell myself. She _isn't _pretty.

"Yeah, I guess so." I shrug, putting the beef back in my backpack. Cato shoots me a glare, or as much of one as he can make while chomping on his beef. He and I both know it: I'm a complete pushover.

"This food isn't going to last us very long, so we might as well go hunting for more." says Katniss.

Cato swallows his petrified meat and chuckles arrogantly. "Good luck finding anything. I haven't seen any game at all today."

She raises an eyebrow, as if she were disgusted by his pride. "I'm sure we can find something."

"Show me, then."

"I will."

Stealthily, we head deeper into the heart of the woods. Katniss tiptoes in front of Cato and I, her bow and arrow prepared to shoot the next living thing that crosses her path. She doesn't need to tell us to stay out of her way. Cato's creeping behind her, his steps both intense and quiet at the same time. Occasionally, he'll stare back at me, the expression on his face almost completely blank. Blank, like nothing ever happened last night. What are we, anyway? What does he think we are? Together? No. We can't be. No one can be together in the Games. But even in the bleakest of expressions, I can tell that there's something going through his mind. I decide that maintaining useless eye contact is, well, useless, so I glance at the braid bouncing off of Katniss's shoulders. It looks much shorter- about six inches of it is missing. Where could it have gone?

"Shh!" She snaps, stopping abruptly and positioning her bow.

Cato is looking around for what she could possibly aiming for, his eyes darting around in this direction and that. While his body is very distracting, I'm almost ashamed to admit my eyes are glued to Katniss's graceful form with the bow. It's so... Strong. Agile. Her stance, that unnerved me just minutes ago now intrigues me. It resembles that of a dancer. But no... this can't happen. My feelings for her can't resurface, she's with Gale! She's the girl who killed my ally! And more importantly, I like Cato. But then again, I have to ask myself... which is the more commonly accepted option? If Katniss and I returned home, and I did somehow regain my feelings for her, it'd make this whole situation roll much smoother. Especially if Cato could return back to District Two, safe and sound. But that doesn't mean I wouldn't miss him. I stare at his body, as if my mind and body work in unison to use the sight as a trigger of the sensations I felt last night. How could his name not hold a place in my heart? He gave me my first kiss. But when I stare up at his face, my memory shatters like glass at his disdainful stare.

"What are you looking at?" he says, husky and harsh. It's like he doesn't care that Katniss can hear us.

I raise my finger to my lips, glancing over to make sure the girl doesn't stir. "Shh! She's trying to shoot  
something!"

Why does he care what I'm looking at? Katniss draws her elbow back and releases an arrow, sending the lightweight spear flying directly into the eye of a small, brown hare in the distance.

"See? I told you there was still game here." She boasts.

Cato's mouth falls agape. He looks jealous. Her hunting skills are probably far more superior than his. My eyes follow her as she scampers away to collect her prize.

"She did hunt for a living back home, you know." I reassure him, trying to calm the envious beast I can tell is possessing him.

"Well, I was trained to hunt too. I'm skilled in that art, too, you know." His voice reminds me of a young child who hasn't yet been taught the social concept of humility. It makes me chuckle.

"I'll see it when you can bring something down from that far away."

His eyes narrow. "Are you really doubting me, up ,against a girl?"

...Am I? I've known of Katniss and her skill my whole life. I doubt Cato has ever had to sustain the lives of his family. I doubt he's ever had to give that much of himself up for others. It might not be so obvious in his hunting skills, but definitely his communication ones.

"No." I say, snipping the headstrong current of thoughts that just burst through my mind. I can't stick up for Katniss to him. He's done nothing but good to me, and she's betrayed me.

"Then why were you so fucking confident about her skills?"

"She hunts in the woods with her boyfriend all day."  
_Boyfriend. Boyfriend._ I try to repeat that word in my head, letting Gale's face stand in the way of any feelings that might be trying to barrel through to me.

Cato opens his mouth to say something else, but Katniss has already returned. Her arrow is back in its sheath, and the rabbit isn't as bloody as I'd pictured it to be. Still, I wince when I look at its hollow eye. I couldn't imagine having an injury like that. It sure makes me look weak after doting over a snare wound as much as I did. Nonetheless, she stuffs it in her backpack without a flinch.

"See what I found?" She says, holding the rabbit up by its ears and waving it in front of Cato.

The jealous brute crosses his arms, mumbling under his breath. "Yeah, you found a rabbit. Good job."

Katniss smiles sarcastically. I can tell patronizing each other is entertainment for the both of them. I just hope that our oaths outweigh their rivalry. I hope it doesn't go any further than a few condescending remarks.

"Should we try to shoot down anything else?" I ask.

Cato glances back at me, slinging his sword over his shoulder. "What else is there in the arena other than rabbits? I haven't seen anything else, and we've already got one."

"Actually, Cato, I've eaten a few squirrels, and I've seen a deer. And obviously, there are mockingjays."

Cato tries to mask the embarrassed flush on his face, but the chirping birds overhead make his calamity much more evident. "Right."

"So we're done hunting, in that case?"

"I guess we can be. The rabbit will satisfy us for tonight." Katniss says. "Mind showing me where you two are staying? We can eat there."

"Good, I was starving." I add.

Cato steps in front of us, pointing straight ahead. "The cave's this way. We can all set up camp there. It's pretty safe."

I'm sure that it's the growling in our stomachs that sets us jogging determinedly to the cave. None of us feel much like sprinting. Already, the muscles in my stomach are burning, almost like it's all my body can do to burn my muscle mass for energy in order to power me along. Ignoring it, or at least trying to, I turn my attention solely to my environment. The dense, green scenery that surrounds us looks like a blur while moving at this speed. Strangely enough, the only definite shapes I can distinguish are those of the leaves and brush. Even though the tree trunks are much bigger and more apparent, the leaves just seem to better stand out to me. Once again, it makes me terribly miss my easel, paints and brushes. Suddenly, Cato comes to an abrupt stop. So abrupt, that I could swear I see skid marks in the dirt. It kind of made me nervous for a minute.

"Hey, guys! Look!" He says, pointing at something in the distance.

"Be quieter! You'll scare it off!" Katniss hisses in a whisper.

I scan the trees for the object of which they're pointing at, searching for at least a few minutes before I actually spot a scrawny fawn. It's so innocent looking, brown with white spots, with eyes that just naturally convey fear. It isn't even aware that we're watching it, let alone the intentions Cato and Katniss might have with it.

Katniss slides an arrow into her bow, arching her arm back to shoot. "Do we want it?"

Cato lightly pushes her bow toward the ground. "Yeah. But let me get him. I don't think Peeta thinks I can hunt." He shoots me a resentful glare. What did I even do to him?

"I never said you couldn't hunt." I tell him.

But soon I find myself wishing that I could take those words back, because Cato goes charging at the deer with his sword in hand. The naturally swift animal notices, and barrels off into a grove of trees. Katniss and I both try to hold back a chuckle. He hesitates a moment before turning around to walk back toward us, and when he does, he keeps his head down. Is it wrong that I think that they're both so cute right now? Katniss's laugh, although seldom heard, could just melt anyone's heart. And Cato's humility just makes me want to plant a reassuring kiss on his lips. Not that he needs to be reassured or anything. He's got every reason to be embarrassed after boasting like he did. Katniss could have easily shot the deer down with half the effort, but I dare not say any of that aloud.

Unfortunately, Katniss decides to do the honors. "Great skills." She says, menacingly. "I'm sure you could keep food in every mouth of the Capitol with your game."

The humbled boy rolls his eyes. "Shut up."

She chuckles. "Even Gale could have hit that with a slingshot."

Gale. I have to remember that he exists. She has a boyfriend.

"I said shut up." Cato barks, which only makes the girl chuckle.

I guess Katniss is either already adjusted to his brisk sarcasm, or she's simply too tired to retaliate. Either way, she doesn't respond anything more than a simple sigh.

"Well, at least we got our rabbit. Let's keep going, I'm sure you guys starving just as much as I am." I say, trying to ease all the awkwardness. They don't disagree with me. I'm sure Cato catches onto the fact I'm providing a distraction from making him look like an idiot for any longer.

"Yeah, let's keep going." He mutters, not making eye contact with me.

We keep walking, but this time not as fast. I look up at the sky, trying to determine the time by the setting of the sun. From what I can see through the clouds, it's probably late afternoon. I can't even believe how much the Gamemakers can mess with time. They just want the Games to abate. That way, the Capitol stays entertained, every level-headed person in Panem doesn't have to watch the gruesome horror for a horribly long period of time, and the Gamemakers can get out of the control room and go out and live their day-to-day lives again. But frankly, I don't know how someone could live a satisfying life with that kind of occupation. I know I couldn't go out into the world and accept all the riches and honor that Gamemakers usually get, knowing that I'm virtually responsible for the deaths of a handful of children. I've always looked on them with resent for that reason. But being in the Games was always one of my most crippling fears, almost to the point of a phobia. For the last four years, I would make myself sick to the point of vomiting every night for nearly a week leading up to the Reaping. The little bit of sleep I would get was always plagued with nightmares about having my name drawn. But strangely enough, when it actually happened, it wasn't as bad as I thought. I mean, I'm still scared of death... I really am. I wish I didn't have to face it. I wish nobody here did, not even Glimmer deserved the terrible fate she got. I can't look at Katniss or Cato without having this feeling of anguish and despair come over me, knowing that I can't save them. I can't even save myself. But maybe that's why I'm so eager to trust Katniss in whatever plan she's devising about getting the three of us out alive.

"So what's been happening on your end of the Games?" I ask Katniss.

Her face goes almost completely pale, as if I've just activated a stream of toxic memories to flood her mind. "I've only seen a few deaths."

"Whose?" I usually would know better not to probe her, but the curiosity just overtakes me. I wonder if she'll mention anything about the tracker jackers?

"Well, I saw some of the initial bloodbath. Both Tributes from One. The girl from Six. And the girl from Eleven." She glances at Cato. "And of course, the boy from Three. What did you see, Peeta?"

Even though he isn't looking at us, Cato is dead silent. He's probably intently listening, probably just as curious as me about what happened to the others. "The girl from Six, the girls from Two and One. The boy from Three. The girl from Five. Then, of course, the bloodbath."

Her voice seems to become slightly more strained upon her next question: "Did you make any kills?"

The girl from Six comes back to my mind... So, she saw that? I'm a bit ashamed, to say the least. The one person in the arena that I come close to killing, and the girl I've tried my whole life to impress just happens to catch sight of it."Well, the girl from Six, if that counts."

"But she was already dead. You just kicked her."

"It felt like I killed her."

She pauses. "...You didn't."

I take a deep breath. I think I finally understand why she's walking on eggshells so much with this conversation. Besides, I'm sure Cato is just waiting for me to ask. "Katniss, how exactly did the Tributes from One die?"

She sighs pensively. "... I killed them."

I'm not surprised in the least by her bluntness toward the subject. It's so much like the Katniss I'm used to. I'm not even surprised that she's killed a few Tributes. But I am shocked that Cato isn't reacting in a rage. In fact, we walk in a brief, but uncomfortable silence for a few minutes.

"You killed the girl using the tracker jacker nest, right?" Cato finally asks.

"Yeah. I didn't mean to hurt Peeta in the process, though."

He raises his voice, yet not in an ornery manner. "You didn't hurt him. I was the one who got stung shitless! Had a damn freaky hallucination, too."

"Well, I couldn't help who the bugs decided to target. They stung me, too. Besides, I didn't think you were helping him out at the time. I was sure that girl would die, though. She looked really ditzy."

"Yeah, she was kind of a dumbass." I say. Cato looks down and smiles. We both know how obvious Glimmer's lack of intelligence was. It's now that I really feel guilty for paying a lot of mind to Katniss today. Cato's smile is just so charming.

Katniss seems a bit relieved that we took the news so well. "She had a good bow. It belonged in the hands of someone who could use it."

"So how did you kill Marvel?" Cato asks. I think he and Katniss relate well in that neither of them are afraid to be brutally blunt and just tell it like it is.

"Oh, that was his name?" She sighs, a bit more reluctant to tell this story than she was the other. "Well, remember the girl from Eleven? We were allies for the first part of the Games... And when I left her alone for just a little while, she got caught in some kind of net. When she screamed for me, I heard, and went to help her. But before I could do anything, that boy found her and sent a spear flying through her stomach. At first instinct, I shot an arrow through his neck. I'm sorry if they meant anything to you."

Cato doesn't bate his response. "Marvel was kind of cocky. He wanted to do everything his own way."

"I think there are a lot of Tributes like that here." Katniss says, aiming her remark right at him. But as strong as he is, he's quite dense. He doesn't even pick up on it.

"I just wish we didn't have to die. I was happy to see you were still alive, Katniss." I tell her, earning another dirty glare from Cato.

Could he possibly be jealous...?

"Thanks. You too. And you know what? Maybe we won't have to. But it _is_ cool that you guys have stayed allies for so long. Usually, Career bonds are weak and short-lived."

I don't know how obvious it is, but I blush a little at what she doesn't know. "Yeah. He's really indispensable."

Finally, the cave fades into view. Our steps quicken toward the rock structure until we finally set foot inside. Now I finally remember how hungry I am, I was too distracted by talking about the dead Tributes to even think about the gnarling in my stomach. Cato checks all the nooks, crannies and stalactites for Thresh or the District Eight boy, while Katniss and I dump our weapons and the contents of our backpacks onto the stone floor. As soon as I find one, I stuff a strip of beef in my mouth. I never thought that one day, I'd find something as simple as eating pleasurable to the point of almost being orgasmic. I must really be starving.

Katniss peeks her head outside. "Well, we need to cook up that rabbit before it spoils. And it's getting dark out. I need to do it now so the fire isn't too obvious."

"Alright, just set it up right outside. You have less of a chance getting killed if we can defend you." I tell her.

She smiles. "Alright. Does anyone have matches?"

Cato digs in his backpack for the small box. "Here. But don't use all of them. I need some for my cigs."

Katniss raises an eyebrow. "How did you get the sponsors to send you cigarettes?"

Both he and I pause. We know exactly how he got the cigarettes...Nice going, Cato. It seems like ages before he actually conjures up a response. But he shrugs his shoulders and plays it off. "I really don't know. I must have just done something that the sponsors thought was neat."

The huntress nods slowly, as if to say by body language that she isn't raking in all the bull. And she'd be smart not to. "Whatever. I've got a fire to build. You guys should set up our stuff for the night."

After the girl scampers away, I eat another strip of beef as Cato lays out our sleeping bags. It actually makes for a very awkward situation. First of all, I have no idea what Cato is feeling toward me right now - anger, resent, jealousy- whatever. All I know is that it isn't pleasant. Secondly, it's completely quiet. Between he and I, not a word's being spoken. I'm not sure if it's just resonating solely in my head or not, but my chewing seems abnormally loud right now. It's almost as if the sound was being amplified through a speaker somewhere in the back of the cave. I try to down my food as quickly as I can.

"Hey, Peeta, I've got to tell you something." Cato says.

His words unleash a nerve-racking tightness that encompasses my stomach. Through my cold sweat, I manage to eek out words. "Alright, shoot."

Noticing him walking over in my direction, I stand up to meet him, my back against the wall. His crystal blue glare nails me straight in the eye. Soon, our faces are only inches apart, and his elbow rests against the wall that my back is pressed against. This whole scenario makes my whole body feel tense in some kind of anticipation.

"I thought you said you didn't love fire girl anymore? If that's the case, I don't know why you're flirting with her so much. Bottom line, it's me or her, Peeta. And you best let me know who you choose, because I don't need you manipulating me like some little bitch. You should know that I've been manipulated enough."

"I-" I begin. But I'm interrupted by his lips crushing against mine, the intensity behind his words flowing through his kiss. Oh gosh, it's that feeling again. It feels so much better than eating did a few minutes ago. I'm so lost in the euphoria that I don't even care if Katniss happens to walk in right now. But after a few seconds, he pulls away to look me in the eyes again.

"Think it over." he says, walking over to his backpack. "I need a cig. I'm going to go get some matches."

"Um... Alright."

I watch him intently as he retrieves the package and walks outside. He's definitely attractive, more physically attractive than I find Katniss to be. I sigh, sliding down against the wall. Maybe this wouldn't matter if there wasn't a possibility that we all might make it out. And since there is, who _do_ I choose? There are things I like and dislike about both of them. Katniss is beautiful and strong, able-minded and determined. All the good character traits I've always believed that someday I too could have. The country and my family wouldn't hate me if I chose her. But she's cold, emotionless and unfeminine. I've always been slightly repulsed by masculine women. Not only that, but she has Gale. I couldn't just tear her away from him, could I? Unless I somehow charm her away from him... but I doubt that's a possibility. They just seem like they'd be a good couple. He isn't a sensitive, artsy pushover like myself. But then again, she _did_still choose to talk to me, offering to help both Cato and I, even after I claimed my crush on her during my interview. And that brings me to Cato. He's cold, sarcastic and somewhat brutish, but he's had a tough upbringing. He's got a soft spot for me, too. That's something Katniss doesn't really have. But because of my experiences with him here in the arena, I'm sure I've damned my family to self-containment in the house, making them afraid of showing their faces to the rest of Twelve. If I got home, and if I chose Cato, everyone would gladly have it out with me.

I haven't even noticed that the sun has already set. The sky is a dark blue, with smoke plumes wafting over from the fire outside. The stars have even come out, looking like tiny, glistening gemstones far embedded into a blanket. Since no one's died today, the Capitol Seal has no reason to be projected. It's the first night of the Games that I've just let myself stare into the sky and admire its beauty. Even though it's completely fabricated by the Gamemakers, and it's much too early to be night anyway, it reminds me of the days before I was ever subject to the Games. All the times my brothers and I would sit on our roof and try to distinguish patterns in the constellations above. I can't help but feel an overwhelming weight of emotion on my shoulders. Even if I could just walk away from the arena and return home, it'd never be the same.

Katniss peeks her face into the cave. "Hey, Peeta, the rabbit isn't going to be ready for quite a while. Cato's tired, and if you are too, you guys can just go to bed. I'll keep watch until this rabbit is cooked."

Now that she mentions it, I am starting to get tired. It's funny how even though the hours in the arena are set much swifter than usual, I always get sleepy around nightfall. The lack of nutrition and exertion from walking can really tire a human's body.

"Alright, but make sure you scream as loud as you can if something's happening, so we can come to your need. And wake us up if you see anything in the distance. And-"

"Don't worry about it, Peeta," she interrupts, chuckling. "I'll be alright."

Cato walks inside the cave, putting his half-empty cigarette box back in his backpack. "I saved some for you." He says quietly, so Katniss won't hear. I don't see any reason that she shouldn't know that I've tried smoking, but apparently he does.

"Thanks." I say, setting my backpack immediately beside my sleeping bag and crawling inside. It's so dark in here by now, I can barely even see Cato. But like last night, I can hear him crawl into his sleeping bag.

"Good night." He says, in middle of a yawn.

It's like he's trying to pretend that nothing ever happened. Who is he to call me manipulative?

"Good night."

The combination of silence and discomfort between us is so thick one could cut through it with a sword. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying as hard as I can to fall asleep so that I might be numb to it.

* * *

_Tstch. Tstch. Tstch._

After a bleak, dreamless slumber, I wake up to the sound of a bow and arrow. I jolt upright, halfway expecting Thresh or the District Eight boy to be standing before me and arching an arrow at my face. But when my eyes fall upon the sound's origin, my blood runs cold and my heart drops.

Katniss is standing, straddled above Cato's sleeping bag with her bow pointed at his eye. The boy is snoring, not even aware that she's about to take his life.

"What are you doing!" I raise my voice.

Startled by my voice, she jumps back. "Shh! I'm going to get both of us out of here alive. Don't you want to go back to Twelve and be back home?"

The sound of my heartbeat in the midst of the silence is much louder than anything. I knew I shouldn't have believed her! This mingled emotion, of heartbreak, fear and betrayal, is no longer new to me. I stutter, too bewildered to say anything at all.

"Come on, Peeta, it's either stay with me and live, or be with him and die. You choose."

For once, my words can't speak for me. I take a deep breath, reach into my backpack and pull out my dagger. An animalistic instinct runs through my veins, and for a while I don't even feel like Peeta Mellark. My strength is at its optimum peak, and my determination soars. I raise the small, jagged knife and brace myself, knowing I'll regret this later. But right now, it needs to be done.

I've finally made my decision.


	14. Sand in an Hourglass

Boom. The sound of the cannon is louder and more resolute than I believe I've ever heard it before.

"What the hell?" Cato yells, practically jumping out of his sleeping bag from shock.

Under this heavy state of breathlessness, I don't think I could possibly muster up a response, or even look him in the eye. I've come off my high of surging rage, and I'm now left with the dire results: A stray, bloodless arrow. The fact that Cato's probably just suffered the rudest awakening of his life. And of course, the girl lying in a bloody heap on the ground, my no longer shiny dagger wedged in her breast.

"Peeta!" he yells at me, reinforcing his presence.

But right now, all that I can even see is the carcass on the ground. Because I just killed Katniss Everdeen.

I don't even know what my own body is doing. I'm hardly in control of it. I've got my head tucked into my knees, curled up in a ball on the cold stone. My mouth is agape and some kind of sound is bellowing out. Am I screaming? Am I crying? All I know is what I did, and that there's no way to revoke it. I can just kiss my sponsor privileges goodbye. But it doesn't matter. I don't want to live anymore. According to the common opinion of any of the Games' spectators, I've just done the evil of all evils: I killed my District partner. The girl I've had a crush on my whole life. The girl who volunteered for her sobbing sister at the Reaping. The girl who kept her family alive with her skills. What would happen to them now? Did I inadvertently kill her whole family, too? Couldn't I have forgiven her for a little bit of deceit? I'm a monster. More atrocious than any bloodthirsty Career, any corrupt government or any ravenous beast to ever exist. Everyone must hate me. Everyone. Gale, my family, District Twelve, Effie, Haymitch...

"Peeta! Damnit, talk to me! What the fuck is your problem?"

Cato.

I realize that the older boy has moved over closer to me, shaking my shoulders. He stares into my eyes, with desperation written all over his face. He stops shouting for a moment.

"Peeta. Talk to me. Please."

The soft tone of his voice is so foreign to me. What happened to his volume, his bluntness, his sarcasm? I've never heard it sound so endearing or gentle. His face isn't scrunched into a grimace, either. No. His eyes are locked on mine, almost as if he's trying to read the thoughts that I'm clearly not sane enough to speak. I can't help it. Just staring into his concern-ridden eyes plucks some string in my heart that just sparks an entire orchestra of emotion. For some reason, I just ditch the strong facade and allow myself to break before I can instruct myself otherwise. My heaving sobs cause my body to convulse, and I find myself crying so hard that hardly any tears can come through. I don't care that I'm showing weakness right now. It's not like I have a chance to survive anyway, or like I'd even want to anymore. The Games could drive anyone to the point of a nervous breakdown.

Before I know it, a pair of strong and heavy arms have wrapped themselves around my shoulders and pulled me into an amorous embrace. My face is buried in Cato's soft, black shirt, where the familiar scent of nicotine comforts me. I don't even care about putting up my strong man mask at all anymore. Maybe there's a sympathetic person out there can see that the Capitol has writhed the sanity right out of me, but I doubt anyone can look past my atrocious actions right now.

"You know, this is exactly what they trained us for." he says, in the most tender voice I've ever heard him use. "Just don't worry. You really need to get used to it."

I take advantage of his compassion and just cry more in his arms. I think of all the things that are pent up in my memory, things that can only be expressed with tears. My longing for the life I once lived before the arena. Clove's death. All of the dead Tributes, namely Katniss. How filthy I felt holding a knife over the carcass that's sitting just a few feet away. I can't believe Cato's just letting me cry on him. As strong, mighty and cocky as he is, I don't see why he doesn't just sit back and enjoy my pathetic show without feeling a need to console me.

"Cato..." His name slips through my deep, racking breaths.

He kisses the top of my head, which again, is totally out of his general character. Still, I don't care. My tears are letting up, but my feelings for him aren't. That proposes a whole new thing to cry about, though. The fact that one morning, I was a normal boy attracted to girls, and now I'm going completely mental, kissing boys in caves. And not just any boys, either. I'm kissing the enemy. The manipulative, cunning and formidable dominatrix that has an uncanny soft spot. A soft spot that apparently, only I'm allowed to see.

He takes my red, puffy face in his hands. Gently, almost as if he thinks I would shatter into a million pieces if he weren't so careful. "There is an up side to this, Peeta."

"How could there possibly be an up side to killing my District partner?" I squeak, taking deep breaths and trying to assert myself.

"Well, I was getting pretty damn jealous of her, hogging up all your attention like she did. I don't know why you killed her, but honestly, I don't really give a fuck. I'm just glad it's just you and me again."

"She tried to kill you." I say, stabilizing my shaky voice. "You didn't even know. Her arrow was arched right at your head when I woke up."

Cato smiles. He's been doing that a lot lately, and every time he does, it gives a little sunlight to the overall darkness of the Games. "Well, I think I know who you chose, then."

I sigh, sitting back and regaining my composure. "I just wish it didn't have to come down to this. I didn't know I'd have to kill her."

He frowns. "Didn't your mentors teach you anything? Of course you're going to have to kill the other Tributes. It's the Hunger Games. At least you didn't eat the bitch like that one freak would have."

Perhaps the biggest monument in the history of the Games was the one cannibalistic Tribute. I think his name was Titus. The Gamemakers had to cast the net very quickly to retrieve the corpses before he ate them. Raw. Just the thought of it makes me shudder. "Well, yeah, that was pretty gross."

Cato chuckles. "Tell me about it. See? It makes knifing someone look like simple child's play."

"Why do you get so bitchy when I talk about Katniss? I didn't even tell you the whole story of why she was going to kill you yet."

He raises an eyebrow. "Well, why don't you tell me then?"

"She pulled a fast one, Cato. She lied. She wasn't going to find a loophole for the three of us. She was going to kill you so she and I could get back to District Twelve alive."

I recap that awful moment in my mind. Even though it couldn't have happened more than ten minutes ago, it still feels surreal, and not in a good way. He looks at the ground, his hesitation indicates that he's processing all of my words. I don't blame him. It's a lot to process.

"I had a feeling she was full of bullshit, right from the start." he finally says. "There's no way that could have happened."

"What could have happened?"

"Us getting out alive together."

Both of us pause. It's perhaps the most inevitable truth of the Games. Every time I try to think around it, it just seems to pop right up in my face.

"But Cato," I begin, staring him straight in the eyes. Even though it doesn't matter because of our situation, I still say what I feel anyway. "I made my decision, just like you asked. I chose you. I know we haven't known each other very long, but I don't even want to think about losing you."

He meets my gaze, moving closer so that his body blocks the view of Katniss's corpse. "Well, for your sake, it sucks that it came down to killing her. But I'm glad you did."

Even though the mood is probably really unfitting, I allow our lips to touch. It's so warm and inviting. For some reason, the word compassion comes to my mind. Like his kiss acknowledges my feelings of remorse and still chooses to touch me. Yet all in comfort, not in lust.

But as we part, a gleam of sadness comes over his face as he stares into mine. "What's wrong?"

Why is he asking me that? Do I look sad or something? I don't think it matters anymore if I act strong or not, but either way, I should tell him the truth. "Well, other than the fact Panem hates me and my District partner died at my hands, I'm kind of scared."

"Why?"

...What a stupid question! "Why? Are you kidding me? Cato, it's the Hunger Games. And there are only four Tributes left. Counting us."

He sighs, averting his eyes from mine and staring at the ground. I don't even bother to ask what he's thinking about.

"And anyway, I can't even think straight. I'm starving. The sponsors all hate me. Everyone hates me. I killed my fucking District partner!" I shout. "And we still won't get out of here alive."

I can't help it. The tears just begin to flow again, until my head is resting hopelessly in my hands. But before I can throw my pathetic fit for too long, Cato's hands prop my face back up, allowing me to find that his is only inches away. He bites his lip, almost as if he's nervous about something.

"I can't promise that we'll both get out, but I'll bust my ass to make sure _you_ do. No matter what. Because I don't want to lose you, either."

"Thanks." I say, now trying to man up and be strong. Or at least as strong as I can be through a bout of sniffles.

"And you know, not everyone hates you."

I feel the short-lived tears begin to subside. "Well, it feels like they do."

"But I don't hate you. And damn me for being such a shitty romantic, but Peeta, if we weren't in the arena, hell, I'd date you. I..." he stutters over his next sentence. "I love you."

My eyes well up again, but not for the same reason. A tear trickles all the way down to the corner of my broadening smile. "Do you really mean that?"

He makes a face, almost like he's just taken a bite of something that was too sweet. "Yeah. I really do. And you just made me realize it. You're the only one I can really trust."

I knew he trusted me, but now he loves me...? That's something I never honestly thought I'd ever hear him say. But right now is probably one of the most gratifying moments of my life. Maybe it's pathetic that he means this much to me, and only after such a short time. I mean, I don't even know his last name. But these past few days feel much longer than they actually were. I never thought I was good enough for him. I feel myself blush as I recall our first kiss, his oath on my life, how he taught me to swim, and of course, the way he speaks so kindly to me, even though he isn't exactly a "kind" person. I smile, looking into the expectant boy's face. Could this be that rumored feeling that I told myself I felt for Katniss? The provocative language spoken by his eyes tell me that it is. Smiling harder than I knew I could, I can feel the next words that I say resonate up from the depths of my heart. "I... I love you too, Cato."

He smiles, laughing a little so that his teeth show. "Well, I'm glad!"

Oh my gosh... It's the most genuine and beautiful smile I've ever seen. I can't help it, I lean in and give him a full kiss, my arms wrapped around his neck. I guess it doesn't matter anymore what the cameras see. I've already done the worst, and Panem already despises me. But Cato doesn't. I definitely need something positive in the midst of my sadness, and he's perfect. I focus on the soft feel of his lips and tongue rather than the bitterness in my gut.

We pull away, but only because of an unmistakable beeping noise infiltrating the cave from the outside. A sponsor's gift? It can't be... can it? Cato gets up and fetches it, leaving me a moment to stare at the dead body. I get instant chills. Her eyes are wide, almost exactly like Clove's were when she, too, dropped dead on the ground. Here is Katniss Everdeen, laying in a pool of blood that I've shed with my own hands. I just can't stop repeating this to myself. It's like it's just not clicking with me yet. Thankfully, Cato returns with a shiny, silver pot attached to a parachute, and sits right between Katniss and I again. It's almost like he's doing it purposely, so I don't have to look at the grim sight.

Like a child on Christmas morning, he opens the pot, discarding both the note and the parachute. We'll read it after we eat. His face lights up even more when he sees the contents of the dish, and we both peer inside. Two spoons are attached to the bottom of the lid, and the warm aroma of savory beef stew wafts up the second he opens it. My gosh, a simple stew has never looked so appealing. Without a word, we grab the spoons and start stuffing our faces. As much as I have the inkling to read the note, and brood over the sponsors' feelings about the things I've done, I just choose to enjoy my food and the company of the one I love. Even though we don't exchange a single word until the very last bit of stew is gone, his presence just means so much to me. Those words he said are just like a song set to repeat, playing over and over again without a single pause. I love you, Peeta. Again and again.

I guess my head's too stuck in the clouds, because I hardly even notice that Cato's already picked up the note and read it. He notices my staring and waves the note in front of my face. "Peeta, wake up and read this."

I take the slip of paper, along with a deep breath.  
"Surprise. We still sponsor. Love your act. - H and E"

"See? What did I tell you?" Cato places the pot next to Katniss's corpse.

I sigh. "It's not an act. But yeah, I guess you were right. I'm certainly surprised, though. Haymitch took quite a liking to Katniss, so I was almost positive he'd be upset."

"Well, it was for the best. Now I can have you all to myself." he says jokingly, draping his arm around my shoulder.

It's certainly nothing to joke about. But before I can even open my mouth in response, reality comes crashing back down around us in the form of an unmistakable cannon boom. We look at each other, both of us likely thinking the same thing: There is only one other Tribute besides us remaining in the arena. My stomach churns. This is always the climatic point of the Games, when only two or three of us are left standing. Generally, the Gamemakers will concoct some kind of catalyst to jump start the end. It's usually something like freak weather or muttations, just to spice things up. One year, they flooded the entire arena, leaving no way for the two last Tributes to breathe. It just came down to whoever drowned first. And just like everything else in the Games, it scares me to death. But now that I've got more confidence about what people think of us, I crawl sheepishly into Cato's open arms.

"Now we've got even less time." I whisper, trying to callous myself to the vexing truth. "If none of us kill each other, then the Gamemakers will do it for us."

Those strong arms close around me, like bars on a cage. But the confine feels more comforting than trapping. He sighs, as if something were wholly occupying his mind. I try to tranquilize my own thoughts by listening to the beating of his heart against his smoke-scented shirt. I can't help but feel a little passive and effeminate as he strokes my hair. I'm not sure if that's a good thing, because I still like to feel like a dude, even if I _am_ in love with one.

"Well, I'm not going to let it phase me today." He finally says, letting me go and standing up.

"What do you mean? That's basically impossible."

"I mean, if I'm going to die, I'm not gonna sit here and kiss the Gamemaker's asses for the rest of my life. Come on, we can go swimming, or do whatever we want for that matter. Let's just forget it all for a while and have the best damn day any Tribute's ever had." He holds out his hand and smiles. "Come on."

"Alright." I smile back, taking his hand and accepting his offer. His take-life-by-the-horns attitude is something I've really come to appreciate. I've always been the type of person to live life according to some kind of plan or outline, and I've always been sensitive. A little spontenaiety never hurt anyone, right? Maybe I need someone who can pull me out of that, someone abrasive that can live life by the seat of his pants. Maybe I don't just want Cato.

Maybe I _need _him.

When we step out of the cave after gathering our supplies, I can feel the immediate relief from the musty air. A few cirrus clouds streamline the clear blue sky, the mockingjays sing merrily and a refreshing breeze brushes past me. I inhale deeply and stretch my limbs. The smell of a chipper meadow is much more uplifting than that of a broken and bloody corpse. Cato too seems to be initializing the fresh air, his eyes closed gently as the rise and fall pattern of his chest exaggerates.

I yawn, feeling the satisfaction of a full belly and a somewhat happy heart. "What is it you wanted to do today?"

The swordsman opens his eyes and stretches lazily. "Nothing specific. But I guess we could go swimming again?"

"At the lake? That's a really long walk."

"It's not like there are many Tributes to be afraid of. And anyway, if the guy shows up, I'll kick his ass before he can kick ours."

Personally, I think it's a little cocky of him to talk like that, not knowing how strong the other Tribute might be. If it's the District Eight boy, I guess I could understand his approach. I never saw him as much of a threat. But if it's the District Eleven boy, I don't think it'd be so easy for Cato to take him down. That guy is huge. Deciding not to call him out on his arrogance, I shrug my shoulders. "Sure, whatever you want. It's not like we're on a schedule or anything."

He smiles. "Good. Let's go, then."

I really don't feel safe walking the whole distance from here to the lake. Whether there's one Tribute or twenty in the arena, they've all got the same motive. They want us dead. And there's still the Gamemakers. But before I can change my mind, Cato's taken me by the hand. Except it's more like he's grabbing my wrist and pulling me forward. I can't help but chuckle to myself at his way of expressing affection - and wonder what he thinks constitutes as a "romantic" dinner. Either way, I try to reciprocate by softly grazing his hand with my fingers. I know we aren't technically dating by any means, so it doesn't really matter what he does or doesn't do. And since I'm not a prissy girl, I can understand how a guy could care less about his avenues of showing concern. Especially someone like Cato. Even though I've never dated, I've known enough couples and seen enough dramas to understand how it works.

* * *

It takes about a half hour to get to the lake. I'm really surprised that the other Tribute didn't come at us, even though we were walking directly in plain sight. From loudly talking and huffing, to taking a few bathroom breaks, we were anything but inconspicuous. I can't even believe how much we've slowed down this past week. Maybe it's the hot sun beating down on us, or maybe it really is our strained and starved muscles. Whatever it is, it's truncating our abilities vastly. By the time we've reached the water, we're almost too winded to swim. Regardless, Cato takes off his shirt, followed by the rest of his clothes, revealing his sweat-dusted muscles. Is it more okay for me to stare at him, now that we've better established our feelings? I mean, you can have lust along with love, right?

"Oh," Cato moans. "This feels awesome."

I'm not going to lie, a naked, moaning Cato really turns me on. But I definitely don't want it to show like last time. So before I strip down, I've got to think of something that will distract me... Haymitch? Soy hot dogs? I threw up a soy hot dog once... Maybe Haymitch eating a soy hot dog? I wince. It's definitely repulsive. I've got the right idea.

"I'll be right in!" I yell, simultaneously taking my clothes off and trying to picture my drunken mentor chomping on a link of processed meat- or whatever it is.

Finally, I've completed my task and quickly throw myself in the water. Wouldn't want Cato to catch sight of how disgusting I probably look naked. I can't help but moan a little bit, too. I forgot how good this felt.

He swims closer to me. "Do you remember anything I taught you?"

I try to do what he called a dog paddle, treading a few yards before running completely out of wind. My eyesight's even blurring out. I manage to pant out a "yes".

"Well, I'm a pretty good teacher then. If you had more stamina, you'd have that dog paddle nailed."

He watches me catch my breath for a while, staying completely silent. Or at least I don't hear him say anything over the sound of my obnoxiously loud breathing. I probably couldn't even comprehend much more than the expanding pain in my lungs right now. But when I've finally come past my mini bout of suffocation, he's only about a foot away from me. He must have swam over without me noticing. Which means I must be really dense or something, because that means he was right in front of my face the entire time.

His face contorts into a sly smile, as he wraps his arms around my waist, pressing our bare bodies together. "And there's definitely more that I want to teach you."

I don't think he's talking about swimming anymore.

I look up, but before I have the chance to analyze his expression, he ambushes me with a forceful kiss. I moan under his lips as he grinds up against me, his erect manhood grazing my thighs. Oh gosh, it feels stellar. I've never been flesh to flesh with anyone before. I'm not even going to try to think about Haymitch or odious vegan cuisine. Right now, all I can think about is Cato and how amazing this feels.

"You like it?" he asks, after pulling away from our kiss.

I answer him with another moan. I'm so close. He better not-

And of course, he does. He stops cold.

Frustrated, I assert myself. Or at least as much as I can assert myself in the nude. "Damnit, Cato, why do you keep teasing me like this?"

What the hell? He's just holding me firmly, like he's trying to compress me, looking around the trees. "Shut up," he whispers. "I think I heard something."

We listen in a petrified silence, the only sound audible is that of my heavily thumping heart. It goes on for what seems like forever, just watching, waiting. I sigh. I guess it's probably best that he snipped our moment short, because just the idea of being found naked and vulnerable in the lake by the other Tribute freaks me out. I know it's somewhat out of my control, but I've decided that if only us three Tributes remain here, I want Cato and I to be the last two standing. And unless the Capitol decides to bend their District partner rule regarding joint victors, I want him to win.

"Come on," he whispers, patting me on the shoulder. "We need to get out. My sword's our only weapon, and I can't use it if I'm wet and naked."

"Alright." I nod. I decide being aroused over Cato's body as he lifts himself onto the shore can wait, so I follow as quickly as I can.

In a flustered rush, we pull on our clothes, which proves itself difficult considering we're soaking wet and our clothes are dry. They've picked a very bad time to act like towels. But as uncomfortable as it is, we force them on, gather our things and run in the direction of the cave. If it weren't a life or death situation, I would have a hard time running due to my chaffed stiffness, my boxers dusted with sand and only pulled halfway up my thighs. But since it is, I try not to care about my discomfort and persevere in my stride.

"Where are we going?" I breathe out, finally aware of the fact that we're running aimlessly.

"Back to the cave," Cato pants. "It's probably safe there."

"Alright."

We run through the thick brush, through the groves of dense greenery and finally, through the valley. By the time we reach the carved stone entrance of the cavern, I could swear our faces have been tinged purple from the over exertion. Still, Cato grips his sword, walking into the shaded shelter, prepared to slaughter whatever has found its way in. I follow at a bit of a distance, lifting my arms above my head so that the oxygen can better find its way into my airways.

"Hey look, Peeta, they cleaned up Katniss." He says, pointing with his sword at the place that her body formerly lay.

I can't even express how relieved I am, now that that brutal and awful sight is gone. "Oh, what a relief."

After he's determined that we're completely alone, I slide down on the wall, resting my exhausted body against the cool stone. Cato peels his shirt off, allowing me a good view of his defined abs and pecs. His peachy skin and dusty blonde hair have tiny beads of sweat here and there, which I'm not denying is downright sexy. Noticing me staring, he smiles the same sly smile that he flashed at the lake.

"Liking what you see?" He asks, his voice sing-songy and saturated with lust.

"Very much." I say, grinning as well.

"I'm sure you do. And since you like it so much, I'm gonna let you have the view all to yourself. No one else deserves to see me like this."

Confusion strikes me as he picks up his sword, walks up to a certain spot in the wall and thrusts the blade forcefully against it. But when I hear the clang of breaking glass along with the initial reverberation of his blow, I put two and two together.

"It's not very often that _I'm_ the responsible one caring about the cameras." he says teasingly, dropping his sword and turning back to face me.

"Don't they have backup ones?" I ask. He's right. I wish I would have been a little more responsible about the things I've done in the public eye, because I'm not exactly sure of the Capitol's censoring mechanisms. I definitely wouldn't want someone like Prim or Rory to have to see me do the stuff I've done so far. Actually, I really wouldn't have wanted anyone to see it, but I decide not to stew over what's already been done.

"I doubt it. I've checked every square inch of this place and haven't seen another. But it doesn't matter, does it? We're finally alone."

I feel myself getting solid again, as the older boy crouches down to where I'm sitting and peels my wet shirt off for me. Ugh... if I weren't so horny, I'd definitely object to it due to my abs, or lack thereof. But as I mentioned, I'm too aroused to care.

"You've got a nice body." He says. I swear he just said that to be polite, because my body's barely worth a second glance.

"Thanks... You do, too." I moan a little as he straddles my lap, lightly kissing my neck and rubbing my growing erection. It feels great, until a rather daunting thought penetrates my mind's hazy state.

"Hold on," I begin, pushing back his chest a bit. "Um... Have you ever done this stuff before? By will, I mean."

"Um, I've fooled around with this one guy back at my training academy in Two before, but I swear it wasn't much. Only once, actually. Why, have you?" His voice is honest and straightforward, which leads me to believe that he isn't lying. Even though it usually would, the fact he's slightly experienced doesn't exactly bother me. The only thing that even begins to irk me about it is the things that have been done to him by his mother. I shudder, deciding not to let it wreck my moment.

"Cato, you know you gave me my first kiss." I chuckle, nervously running my fingers down his chest. "I'm about as clean as they come."

He smirks devilishly. "I hope you don't mind me fucking you up a little, then."

"Not at all, as long as you finish." I consent, realizing I'm being somewhat of a smartass. Truthfully, I don't care about anything else right now. My hormones have taken over. I just want Cato to fuck me.

"Trust me, I will."

He turns our bodies away from the wall, pinning me down on my back on the floor. The chill of the cold stone against the bare skin on one side of my body and the hot and heavy boy pressed atop the other feels amazing as it is. I decide to let him dominate me completely, not because I'm a pansy, but because he's been through a lot and deserves to feel in charge for once. He leans down and kisses me, his tongue grazing my lips as if to ask permission to enter. I part my lips with a moan, folding my arms around his waist as his tongue greets mine. Gosh, this feels so right. I can't help but drool a little at the feeling of his warm tongue wrestling with mine. His hands venture down to the front of my pants, making me even more stiff as they rub me gently. Oh, how I wish he would hurry up! I'm so solid it hurts.

Our episode goes on for a while, until he trails his kisses down my neck to my chest. I pant, feeling a flighty tingling sensation as he teases my nipples with his tongue. Noticing my obvious state of pleasure, he slides his hands down my sides and ventures over my abdomen. I laugh. It actually tickles! He snickers quietly in response. But my laughter quickly fades into more moaning as his tongue peaks slightly under the belt of my pants. Oh gosh... I've heard it from guys back home say that getting blown is the best feeling in the world. I run my fingers through his hair, waiting in anticipation as he unzips my pants, peeling them and my boxers down to my knees.

"'Mmm... I like what I see." he says, his voice deeply longing.

I'm a little embarrassed, lying on my back and sticking straight up at him. I'm only a little over half his size; I feel so tiny compared to him. "Uhm, thanks."

He strokes my bare shaft for a minute before lightly kissing my head. Without even thinking, I moan loudly: The mere feeling of his warm breath on me is electrifying. But calling it ecstasy is putting it mildly as he takes me into his mouth, sucking lightly and stroking me with his tongue. I feel all my muscles contract, focusing all their attention on my pleasure point. As if my moaning were a command, he begins rubbing me with his free hand, sucking harder. Ah... As much as I want to hold it in and savor the moment, it isn't possible. He slows his pace before removing me from his mouth, staring me straight in the face. It's almost as if we were at war with one another, fighting over the victory of granting the other the first climax.

I'm letting him win.

"Mmmm... C-Cato..." I grunt out. "Don't stop. Please."

"Come for me." he demands.

Quickly, he returns to my throbbing length, his hands roaming all over my thighs. I know I'm close when I become hyper-sensitive to every fleck of his tongue on the underside of my stock, the blood rushing away from my brain as he takes me deep into his mouth.

Finally, I break into somewhat of a cold sweat, feeling the tingling rush of endorphins overwhelm my body as they push my seed into his mouth. My legs and toes twitch, but I can hardly feel anything except for pure euphoria.

To my surprise, he's swallowed the entire load. When the initial haziness from the orgasm fades away, I sit upright, beginning to feel a little embarrassed. I remember how small I am, and how awkward it might have been from his point of view. Did I do everything alright? Damn, he's like a sex god. I'd sure hope so. I always feel this way after I come, though. It's like hormonal backfire.

"Cato... That was awesome..." I pant, stuttering out my words. "Um...I'm sorry if I was too small, though. Or if I did anything wrong. Did I?"

"Not at all. Just return me the favor before I top you." He commands, carelessly rolling onto his back.

Finding myself abnormally curious to explore his body, I straddle on top of him and passionately kiss his lips. For a few minutes, his hands wander all over my body, seeming to favor my backside. He's very direct with the nonverbal, motioning and pulling me where he wants me to go. I suck the skin on his neck, causing him to quietly grunt. He even tastes heavenly, musky and sweaty with a note of sweetness. While running his fingers through my hair, he pushes down on my head, motioning me to his lower body. Trying my best to reciprocate his style of lovemaking, I slide my body down his, crawling downward on my hands and knees. Before attacking his chest with my tongue, I take the time to admire his muscle tone. Eight, perfectly defined abs, two bulging pecs, and a defined V-shape leading below the belt. A light trail of gold hair leads downwards, and the strong scent of nicotine still stains his skin. He's perfect, to say the least. I try my best to maneuver my tongue over his nipples, being careful as to not be too rough. I definitely don't want to hurt him. His moans gradually become louder as I move over his abs and down to his waist.

"Ready?" I ask, just to make sure it's alright.

He unzips his own pants, pulling them along with his boxers down slightly. Guess he's impatient. "Go right ahead."

To say the least, I'm a little intimidated. He's easily about nine inches, his veins popping through his length as he stands straight up, just waiting to be pleased. He rests in a curly nest of golden hair. It's... Quite beautiful, actually. But I can tell he's growing even more restless. Even though I've never done this before, I jump right into a process of sucking and stroking. He moans so loud, I swear the other Tribute could be sitting right outside, jerking off to the mere sound of us. But that's highly unlikely, right? Trying not to think about it, I focus solely on Cato, who is pushing my head slightly down on his shaft. Does he want me to go deeper? Without gagging myself, I try to take more of him in. He stays content for a while, seemingly in a plausible state. Looking up at his face, his lips are slightly parted and his eyes are rolled back. My hair is intertwined in his fingers, which act virtually as his control reigns on my head.

"P-Peeta..." he moans my name, making me hot all over again.

He pushes down a tad bit more, and as his pleasure escalates, he thrusts his hips at my head. I humbly begin to doubt myself. Physically, I hope I can take this.

...And of course, I can't.

He climaxes, and his warm seed shoots into my throat. I can't help but be humiliated as I choke and gag, spewing his load right back onto him. Oh no. How embarrassing! I really can't do anything right.

After his thrill has passed, he props himself up on his elbows, sitting up and analyzing the damage.

"You okay?" He asks, chuckling as if it's no problem.

"Oh my gosh, Cato, I'm so sorry..." I can't even think of anything to say past that point. I'm so embarrassed. I stand up and pull my clothes together, wiping my mouth. "I really am."

He stands up, fixing his appearance as well. Chuckling, he pats my head. "Don't be. That was a damn good blow job, especially for your first time. At least you didn't stop."

I smile, probably looking pretty stupid. "Still. I'm sorry."

He smiles. "You tasted great, by the way."

I blush, remembering his slight taste of chlorine mingled with salt. It wasn't unpleasant, but I definitely wouldn't flavor a cake after it. "You too."

He stretches. "I guess we can stop for now, even though I didn't get to legitimately fuck you. I can tell you're not ready."

I'm not even going to bother with being offended. Even though we both want it, we both know it's the truth.

"I'm really sorry."

"It's fine." The boy yawns. "But I'm tired now, a good quickie can wear anyone out. I think we're safe for a while, if you wanted to take a nap."

I contemplate the idea. It's not like we've got much to do in the arena, and I'm sure we're both tired after our escapade. "Well, now that you mention it, I am pretty tired. It's not like we slept very well last night."

He takes the sleeping bag out of his backpack and lies down on his side, positioning his elbow outward. "Come here, then."

I lie down as well, resting my head on his bicep. I don't so much want to sleep as much as I'd like to just cuddle with him, as weak and pussy as it may sound. "Thank you, Cato."

He holds me tighter. "Love you."

I smile at those words, nuzzling my head into his neck. "Love you too."

* * *

Seeing that he's drifted off, I allow myself to fade out as well. The throbbing aftershock of my climax is still prominent, almost as if the hormones in my body are still recovering from the jolt of pleasure. Now that my head is clear, I really contemplate the things that just took place. Was it technically considered sex, even though he didn't enter me? Am I still a virgin? If it was, and if I'm not, I can truthfully say I'm having some mixed feelings. I mean, I've only known Cato for about two weeks. Up until just recently, I wouldn't even think that I had a sincere place in his heart. But on the other hand, my memory back tracks through all the time we've spent together - from the observatory, to lying here in each other's arms. It all seems to have aided me in the time I needed it most. I love how even when I fuck everything up, he doesn't even care. I couldn't even fuck right, and he still didn't care.

Sighing, I look back at the sleeping boy next to me, quietly snoring as he pulls me close.

I definitely do need him.

I nuzzle back up to him, trying to concentrate solely on how happy we are. But as jubilant and content as I feel, I can't shake the thought of the ever-present threat of the Games. Especially since there are only three Tributes left. And that my District partner's dead.

And especially since our time is imminently running out, like sand in an hourglass.


	15. How I Became The Sky

Frankly, I'm not sure what it is that brings me out of one of the most peaceful slumbers I've had in the arena so far. But I'm sure I can accredit this unhinging pang of worry that's brewing up in my gut. Looking behind my shoulder, I heave a sigh of relief. Cato's face is merely inches behind mine. His dusty blonde hair is tickling the side of my face, and his warm breath is caressing my ear and neck. I'm just glad he's sleeping lightly, otherwise his buzz-saw snoring would be racking my eardrums to death. But the sounds of his inhaling and exhaling is both relaxing and endearing, just like the way his arms are boa constricted around my waist, pulling my back up against his warm chest. His strong and steady heartbeat seems to transmit through his embrace to my body, almost as if his heart were singing a lullaby to mine. I can't help but smile, remembering everything from this morning, before we fell asleep. It all feels like a happy dream, despite the fact I spit semen all over his pelvis. And that we didn't get to fuck. I shudder at my incompetence, it was so stupid of me. I'm going to try to forget about that part and just remember how good it felt. His skin on mine, the warm pleasure that we were able to deliver to one another. I didn't want it to end.

But why is this feeling just taking over my being?

I stretch my arms over my head and survey the surroundings. First, I look in the direction of my feet, toward the opening of the cave. We must have slept for a few of the accelerated hours here, because the sky is an eerie shade of navy twilight. Starless, cloudless, dark blue sky. The moon is shining as brightly as the sun, illuminating the entire arena. There doesn't really seem to be anything happening out there, so I gaze upward toward the interior of the cavern. A familiar gleam flashes within the wall, sending a cynical chill up my spine. They've replaced the camera. But how? Did someone sneak in here while we were asleep? I try to collect some logical reasons for how it could have resurfaced, but the tightening grip around my middle writhes my thoughts as well as my intestines.

"Shit, don't scare me like that, Peeta!" Cato mumbles, breaking out of sleep as well.

"What are you talking about?"

He sighs, before letting me go and sitting up to stretch. The sudden removal of his arms leaves a stain of warmth on my body that dissents with the cooler cavern breeze that hits it.

"I just had a shitty dream about you." he tells me, his voice frantic and hazy.

"A nightmare?"

"Yeah, or whatever you want to call it." His face scrunches up and turns red, as if he were embarrassed to admit to having one. It's nothing new to me, as haunting images are no stranger to my sleep.

I move closer to him, leaning my head on his shoulder. Partly because I want to console him, and partly because I'm cold. "What happened in it?"

He looks down. "You died in the bloodbath. Like my brother. Someone just picked up a trident and speared it right through your back."

"Well, I'm still in one piece, although I came pretty close to being squeezed to death." I joke. It's now that I realize I'm actually starting to adapt his sense of humor.

His face contorts into his idiosyncratic smirk. "Yeah, well it's better than being speared with a trident."

I sit upright. Now I'm a little curious, feeling like prodding into his mind a bit more. "Was Oslo speared with a trident?" I ask.

Every time I ask about his family or his past, he always seems so hesitant. Almost as though he has to push the words forth, and his pensive pauses along with shaking his head is his physical preparation for speaking of it. But I don't blame him. I'm just glad that he trusts me enough to mention it at all.

"Yeah, he was. And actually, Peeta, you remind me a lot of him."

"How so?"

"You look like him. A lot. He was artistic, funny... A really good guy. But he was strong, like me. He never cried." He stares into space, almost as though he can see his brother's face right before him.

I decide to let his implication that I'm weak just roll off my back. I guess he doesn't need me to get all offended over something stupid when he's trying to talk about such a tender subject. "I guess you miss him."

I can tell I've struck a soft spot when he buries his face in his hand, almost as if he were in a forlorn state of disbelief over the whole thing. It's sad, really, seeing someone grieve. Even if there are no tears involved. "More than you know."

We sit in silence for a moment. I really don't know how to comfort him. He's just trying to be tough, setting up a dam for the tears I can tell want to roll out. In a way, I almost wish they would, so I could stop looking like a crybaby pussy to the whole country as the only boy who cried in the Games. I wonder if any other male Tributes have broken down emotionally as well. But then again, I don't want Cato to cry because his strength is really the only thing keeping me sane. If he cried, I definitely would too. I would hate to see him so hurt. Once I start crying for a specific reason, my mind conjures up a domino effect of other things to cry over. I try to avoid tears as much as possible, and usually I'm a levelheaded person. But the arena's just been forcing them out of me.

"When I started at our training academy, I was five years old. Oslo was eleven, one of the bigger guys. And he stood up to whoever fucked with me, because I couldn't fight back yet." he recalls out loud. He smiles sadly, staring straight ahead. "But I guess we both thought of the Games as our only hope, to get away from mom and all. Everyone just takes it seriously in Two. Volunteering's supposed to mean you're strong, not that you're..." He stumbles over his next word. "... Weak."

"I'm sorry that happened to you." I say slowly, managing to muster up a somewhat sympathetic sentence. "I mean, I don't find you weak at all. I just wish you weren't hurt so much."

"It's fine. I'm a man, Peeta. I can handle stuff like that." When he finally looks at me, I notice every feature on his hawk-like face stands out in the dark twilight, much like a star misguided by the moon's broad light. "But thanks for listening. I guess I deserve a good person like you."

Something twists inside me, imploring my words out of my mouth. "I love you, Cato. I'll listen to whatever you decide to tell me."

"Good." he smiles confidently, lightening the mood. "Then listen to this. I think fooling around with you was really fun. And I know I mentioned fucking you earlier, but you never really said yes. So I want to do it if we get the chance."

"Even though I screwed up something as simple as a blow job?"

He sighs, picking up on my incompetence on the subject. "Peeta, it doesn't matter. Do I have to spell it out? I really wanna top you. I bet you're good and tight."

I think about how it might feel. Honestly, I didn't really think it through much when he mentioned it earlier. I was just too caught up in my hormones at the moment. Every guy dreams of getting head, but I doubt many think about getting their asses penetrated. Yet, I think about how happy I was with Cato, even though I almost got affixiated and made a complete idiot of myself in the process. I guess I can't really screw up when I'm the one on the receiving end, and now that I think of it, the thought arouses me. It might be fun. I wouldn't mind giving him my virginity, either. But definitely not in the arena.

"Alright." I consent, not resisting the smile that's spreading out on my face. "If we can get out of here."

He kisses my lips with force, reaching over and cheekily rubbing the seat of my pants. "It's a plan, then."

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

A silver parachute dives down to the mouth of the cave, glistening in the moonlight and landing perfectly in the center. We glance at each other.

"I thought I busted the camera, how are they watching us?" He asks, raising an eyebrow.

I feel a cold sweat come over me. I should have told him the camera was still in here before he vented to me all his emotions, let alone proposed sex! Damnit, I swear everything I do is so brazen sometimes. "I-I think they replaced it." I stammer.

He shrugs. "Well, at least we got a gift out of it. Why don't you go get it and bring it here?"

"Of course, your majesty." I chuckle. In reality, I'm just glad he isn't fuming over the fact that I didn't tell him earlier. I mean, I would honestly be furious at me if I were in his shoes.

Indebted, I retrieve the parachute. The silver pot feels oddly lightweight. As soon as I sit back down with it, I open the lid, our two pairs of curious eyes surveying its contents.

"A cupcake?" I utter, sort of confused as to why the sponsors would send something like that. We surely don't need it.

"No, Peeta, I thought it was a fucking dinosaur." Cato banters.

I can't help but laugh at the thought of Haymitch getting drunk and sending us a dinosaur. Now that I think of it, though, it's possible. Highly unlikely, but still possible.

"Well, maybe I ought to check the note." I add, picking up the piece of paper under the small snack cake.

"Hey, cut it out with destroying the camera! We want to see you lovebirds, too. -E"

Cato rolls his eyes. "Enobaria's so nosy sometimes."

"I think everyone in the Capitol is right now. The Games are the highlight of their year."

He sighs, picking up the cupcake. It's beautiful, really. A dark brown cake topped with a swirl of thick, rose colored frosting, garnished with a plump raspberry. Both of us drool over it just as much as we do over one another.

"Here," he says, handing it to me. "You split it. I don't want to make a mess of it."

Simply seeing the bright color of the frosting and smelling the fruity fragrance brings me right back to the Mellark bakery, where icing cakes was the only thing that could clear my often busy mind. I'd need to frost an entire cake factory before my mind was purged of all my thoughts from the arena.

I split the beautiful cake in two equal halves, before asking the ever-vexing question. "Do you want the raspberry?"

Cato's eyes light up. "If you don't want it."

I sigh. I love raspberries, but since I love Cato more, I hand him the more decorative half of the cupcake. "It's fine. Here, you take it."

I take a small bite of my half, while he takes a huge bite of his. The expression of satisfaction that crosses his face looks nearly identical to the one he made when I'd pleasured him earlier.

"Mmmm," he says, crumbs falling from his lips. "Coffee cake's my favorite."

I can't help bursting out in laughter. "Coffee? This is easily dark chocolate."

He shrugs. "So? They don't give Careers dessert at the Capitol. Besides I'm not a connoisseur of cakes like you are."

"Alright, that might be true. But this doesn't taste like anything close to coffee cake."

We savor our sweets, while the melody of the Capitol anthem swells the arena. Like every other night, we let our conversation fall to silence as we observe the newest faces in the sky. I brace myself. First comes the boy from District Eight. I had a feeling he was the one the cannon went off for earlier. The boy from District Eleven was much bigger and hardier than he. But I'm surprised that he survived as long as he did.

My eyes can't stay dry for long as the girl from Twelve's sharp, grey ones pierce directly into mine. It's almost as if the projected image of her were directly staring me down, full of resent and disdain. For the brief moment she looks down on me, I feel a penitent stab in my heart. Guilt feels just as bad, if not worse, than what I think being killed would feel like. I've never even imagined killing anyone. Let alone Katniss.

"I'm a murderer, Cato." I say, still trying to come to terms with it.

He's still licking frosting off his fingers, like this whole thing didn't even phase him. "Well, so am I. Guess we better get used to it."

I grimace at his apathy. "How long do I even have to get used to it, Cato? There's only one Tribute left. Besides us. The Games will be over soon. And we can't get out of here ali-"

Then, like an epiphany, a thought that brings me a peaceful feeling of hope just comes to my mind. "Wait a minute... Cato, why do you think they gave us the cupcake exactly?"

Perhaps a bit confused by my change of direction in thought, he pauses to think. "Um, well, I think they like us being together."

"If they planned on killing us both, to speed up the Games, do you think they'd still be supporting us like this?"

The look on his face tells me I've present an acute point. "Are you saying that maybe they might grant us a joint victory?"

"Maybe."

Delaying conversation for a moment, we sit and think about what that might mean for us. Crowns, the Victory Tour, going back to our home Districts. Well, that would be the only difficult part for me, returning home after everyone knows and has seen what I've done... But I guess it wouldn't be as hard with Cato with me as it would be if I were alone. At that point, we'd be able to have a real relationship, and everything that came along with it. The corners of my mouth almost touch my ears. That's all I've ever wanted.

"I hope we win together, Cato. I really wouldn't want it any other way." I say, realizing the spark of childlike enthusiasm in my voice.

Yet he remains very serious. "I hope so too."

"Twelve hasn't seen a victor since Haymitch. And Panem's never seen a joint victory!"

"District Two would be ashamed." he says, his cool tone clashing with my energy over the subject.

"Why?"

"Because Careers are supposed to be bloodthirsty killing machines. Right up until the very end. That's what bringing pride to your District is. But I haven't really even killed anyone since Jayel." He sighs, staring up at the moon. "And anyways, just because they send us a cupcake doesn't mean we're in the clear. You don't know what kind of shit the Gamemakers have planned."

My heart sinks. I kind of want to forget about Jayel. And I really did think that cupcake could have gauged the perspective of those in control of us. "I guess you're right. I just... I really don't want to go back without you."

He turns to look at me. His china blue eyes are almost shining translucent in the moonlight. "I don't want to go back without you either, Peeta."

I'm not sure what drives me to, but like a child, I crawl humbly into his arms. I sit between his legs as he wraps himself around me from behind. I twist my neck to look up at him, where I find him smiling lightly before leaning in to join our lips together. It has to be the most delicate kiss ever given, seasoned with notes of dark chocolate, flavored with sympathy and not in the least bit forceful. I guess as much as I've adopted Cato's condescending sense of humor, he's taken a bit of my sensitivity back in return. Still, he's very dominant and strong, which is the Cato that I've always known. As much as I was intimidated by it at first, I really wouldn't really want him any other way. It's like he's my anchor in this sea of bloodshed, and this embrace is our only hope.

Almost as if on cue, the deep, familiar sound rocks the arena. A cold sweat ghosts over me as I feel myself begin to panic.

"Cato, the cannon!" I whimper.

He pulls me closer. His face is still calm, but I can feel his rapid heartbeat on my back. "Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere. You're safe."

I wish I could let his reassurance sink in, but the tinge of worry that I felt this morning is now enormous and explosive, making me want to vomit from the pure pressure of it. "I wish I could believe that." I tell him.

He kisses the top of my head, which I'll admit feels good, but it isn't comforting me like he intends for it to.

Suddenly, a noise in the distance causes the hair on the back of my neck to stand straight up. I've never heard anything like it before. It was a shriek, too shrill to have come from an animal, yet too guttural and inflected to come from a human. The more I listen, the more those awful sounds continue. My heart races... Is this the end?

"Cato, what was that?!" I whisper loudly, prodding him as if he'd actually know.

The older boy remains calm on the outside, even though I can tell he's scared shitless within. "I don't know any more than you do." he stutters out, trying to keep his cool. "Just that this is some creepy-ass shit."

We listen to the screeches and wails, trying to figure out where exactly they're coming from. Oh gosh, I swear I'm going to be sick. The moonlight is setting one hell of a spooky atmosphere for the noises that seem to be only about a mile away. But I can't see a thing.

"Damnit, what _is_ that?" Cato unlatches his arms and stops holding me. He stands up and equips his sword. Great. Now I'm shaking even more.

"Whatever it is, I don't think you can face it with a blade alone. You can't die on me!" I yell, but with limited volume. Any louder, and I'd just be spewing out vomit instead of words.

"I've got this one, don't worry." he says, putting on his brave facade. But I see no reason in faking anything right now.

As soon as he positions himself into a fighting stance at the mouth of the cave, though, the noises stop. It's not even a gradual quieting, either. More like a slamming halt. One second is filled with an atrocious sound, the next with pure silence. Something definitely isn't right. The night's so quiet that I can hear both mine and Cato's pounding heartbeats. He looks just as puzzled as I am.

"What the hell? It just... Stopped." he says, cocking his head to the side.

But as soon as he turns to face me, I jump, screaming at the top of my lungs and releasing every pent up endorphin in my body. "Cato!" I yell his name, crawling backwards into the cave.

When Cato twists around to look, he too, screams in horror, jumping back in my direction. It's the most terrifying thing I've ever seen in my life...

This can't be happening. Oh lord, tell me it isn't...

A wall of fire has sprung forth out of the ground, reaching higher into the sky than I can even see, easily past the roof of the cave. But it's not the scorching heat of the fire itself, nor the awful smell of rotting flesh that coaxes the vomit right up my throat and onto the sleeping bag - but the howling, gnashing, screeching bodies that lunge into the cave after us. Cato's sword has disintegrated in the fiery wave from hell. I feel another heave in my burning throat, but either I've got none left, or perhaps even my vomit's too afraid to surface. My mind has already linked together the reason that this is so profoundly horrifying.

Twenty-two clawed, half decayed, molten bodies slowly crawl toward us, bringing the flames into the cave with them. Each of their faces, if there is much more than an ashen skull and a gaping mouth left, is easily identifiable. One of them is just too familiar: stringy, black hair. Freckled chunks of skin falling off her face. Black sockets for eyes. It's howling in a pitch that no human could match.

These are the dead Tributes.

"Peeta!" Cato screams my name as he dives onto the floor, pulling me down with him as we crawl to the very back of the cave, about twelve feet away from the opening. Stalactites melt off the walls and ceilings from the flames. It's getting harder and harder to breathe... Smoke has infiltrated the cave. The shadows of the Tributes' claws precede the fire itself, and their piercing screeches increase in volume. They're crawling in to kill us, moving at a slow and tedious speed. This is it, I tell myself, repeating it so that it clicks with me. I'm going to die. Cato's going to die. The Capitol won't help us. Haymitch_ can't_ help us. We won't have a vict-

My thoughts are interrupted by Cato. "Is this what you want?!" he shouts, staring directly at the camera, which is oddly the only thing remaining in tact in this tragic kamikaze.

We both sit with our heads between our knees at the back of the brightly lit cave, at the complete and total mercy of the thickening plumes and the flaming corpses that are slowly crawling inwards. The stench of their decaying flesh is absolutely revolting, and the smoky air makes it almost impossible to breathe. Is this even legal for the Gamemakers to do this? Finally, the initial shock of it all begins to wear off, and my tears begin to flow. In minutes, I'm drowning in my own breathless lament. The bitter truth hits me now.

There can only be one victor.

"Cato!" I shout over the crackling snarls of the fire, grappling onto the boy. We end up intertwined in each other's arms, crouched at the back of the cave.

He, too, has watering eyes. "I promise you won't die, Peeta. I promise. I'll take this one for you."

No! He_ can't_ die! I shake my head, as if I could convince him otherwise. But I know it's not his choice.

"No, Cato! You can't die! You're... You're my strength!" I say, choking on both the smoke and my sobs. "Cato... I... I can't live without you."

The first tear trickles down his beet red cheek, along with tendrils of sweat. His breath becomes heavy from the heat. "I was always dead anyway, wasn't I?"

I bury my head in his chest, my head throbbing in pain as I bellow out my helpless grieving. I can't even speak a single word.

_Make it stop, someone! Please make it stop!_

The smoke's getting thicker. My skin is burning from the close proximity of the fire. My mind is clouding up. It's all I can do to pull my face out of his chest to take a last glance at his face, to savor it while I still can.

"Don't cry over me. I'm a scared, little bitch, Peeta, I...I don't deserve you or your tears. I'm fucking weak." he says shakily, letting his emotions flow.

"No! Cato, no!" I cry pathetically.

His eyes slowly avert from mine, to the shrieking flame wall, which is barely ten feet away. Our time's running out. I see it flash across his face. Fear. I can feel him trembling beneath me. His mask of persevering strength has been ripped off, exposing him for the frightened boy he truly is. He's actually allowing me to see his foible of weakness. And it only makes me want to endear him more... If only there was some way I could take both of us away from here.

Just then, a crippling burn shoots up my leg. I yelp in pain before looking down to inspect the damage. The rotten, flaming version of Glimmer has lurched forth, scorching my calf with the tip of her claw. Cato once more comes to my rescue and kicks her away, burning his own foot in the process.

Both of us look up behind us at the same time to see the growling, braided huntress pounce toward us.

_Katniss._

He pushes me out of the way, pinning me against the cave wall. He plops down on his stomach at my feet, as the fire closes us in even tighter. They're so close to us... Screeching, erupting with hatred and vengeance. I'm drenched in sweat. I swear I'm burning alive. This is much worse than any nightmare I'll ever have. This is hell incarnate.

"One last kiss, Peeta." Cato whimpers through his tears, lifting his head up slightly. "Please."

Although every cell in my body is panicking, I force myself to sanity. I don't want to waste a precious second. I lean down to him, and with all my strength, press my lips against his with a passion more fervent than the heat of the flames before us. Feeling my face get even warmer, I pull away. The howling creatures are lunging forward, only standing at an arm's length away from Cato's feet.

"I-I love you, Peeta," the boy stammers out. "Stay strong for me."

I take his hand and squeeze it lightly, looking directly into his watering eyes. "I love you too, Cato. M-More than anything in this world."

The boy smiles sadly, caressing my hand. "Please remember me." he whispers.

Before I can assure him that I'll never be able to forget him if I tried, the evil glare of a flaming beast behind him tells me that I don't have time.

"No. No! Cato!" I holler, letting my sanity sieve right through me as I watch the horror of horrors unfold before my very eyes: Katniss stabs her claw into Cato's lower back like a fork in a slab of meat, dragging his bloodied body into the flames. The trail of blood that follows him back into the flames act like kerosene, feeding the fire and coaxing the it even closer to me. His final, blood-curdling scream... it resounds through every fiber of my body...

I watch his icy blue eyes melt...

...From a blazing blue...

...To absolutely nothing at all.

I can't watch the rest of his body be devoured by those savage creatures. I can't even hear his cries of pain over my own. The smoke... it's suffocating me. Fuck, I can't see anything! I press my knees to my chest, my body convulsing painfully at each sob.

_This is the end... Cato is dead._

_No. He can't be. He can't be!_

I can't stop screaming or crying. My chest is so tight. I swear I'm going to explode...

_Please take me, too. Oh lord, I'm suffocating. Please let me die... Please...  
_

* * *

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

My eyelids feel so heavy, as if they were cemented shut. It feels like hours before they can open. But when they do, everything looks fuzzy and white. I blink a few times, bringing my sight into clearer focus. I'm clothed in a white cotton gown. My skin feels cool and balmy, enthused with an aura of what could be menthol. A needle is embedded into my arm. I recognize what it must be - morphling. The Capitol's best post-anesthetic sedative. It's working miracles. The pain... It's all gone.

It feels like, at this moment, I can forget there was ever any pain at all. I have a feeling I'm not even in the arena anymore. The air is much cleaner. My mind is padded by the drugs, and I dare not remember what lies under it. I'll avoid it as long as I can. Right now, I just want to stare at the fluorescent, glowing ceiling, trying to focus on the calming sound of my vital monitor.

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

It sounds nothing like the parachutes in the arena. It's almost as though they sounded worried or despaired as they floated down to us. But this series of beeps is consistent and calming, even though I'm too drowsy to think about what could be causing it. Some sort of monitor, maybe? The lulling sound tranquilizes me as I slowly close my heavy eyelids, falling into a sleepy state of comatose bliss.

...

"Pee-ta!" I hear a shrill voice call out my name, before I've even had a chance to fall back asleep. I try to ignore it, but that tactic proves itself futile. Her voice just doesn't stop.

"Peeta!"

I struggle to open my eyes once more, where my blurry sight collides immediately with Effie's electric fuschia dress. I think I'll need more morphling just to soothe my head from looking at a color that bright. I mean, I haven't seen any bright colors in over a week. My eyes aren't used to it yet. But there she is, just as extravagant as I remember her to be. Her candy-pink wig, curled perfectly around her signature flower hairpiece. Long, false nails painted lavender, and of course, a layer of makeup probably nearing an inch thick.

"Effie..." I stammer. I guess speaking is a little more difficult than I thought, too.

"Oh, Peeta," she says, smiling sadly. She moves closer to my bedside, dodging cords and machines. When she's sure she isn't going to break me into a million pieces, she offers me a gentle embrace "I'm so sorry about what's happened to you!"

She gives off a strong floral scent, which makes my stomach churn a little. All my senses seem to be extremely vulnerable right now. But before I open my mouth in response, a harsh and familiar voice rises up from the chair behind her. "Aw, come on, Effie, don't make him remember it yet."

"Haymitch?" I question the voice, slowly sitting up. I recognize him as well. Stringy, blonde hair down to his shoulders. A five o'clock shadow crowning his harsh face. A brown coat with a wrinkled shirt, and of course, his trusty flask at his lips.

"Haymitch, his interview and crowning is _tonight!_ He'll need to remember it sooner or later!" The woman says, standing up and smoothing her skirt.

My mentor takes a swig of what I'm guessing is liquor out of the flask. "Trust me," he says, slurring his words. "It's something you're gonna want to be numb for."

Effie rolls her eyes, exasperated. "It's something you've got to be_ sober_ for, Haymitch!"

He scoffs, taking another drink. He's clearly intoxicated.

I might be numb to emotion, but I'm perfectly aware of reason. Aware enough to know that Haymitch has more experience with the Games than Effie has, and that he's probably got a reason to be drunk. If his memories are just as painful as mine, and alcohol combats them as well as this morphling does, then I don't blame him. My whole body feels desensitized, and I can hardly remember the fact I was ever in the Games. Maybe it's because I'm avoiding the thought. But at least I'm not horribly bereaved over it.

"Oh, Peeta, they extracted you from the arena just in time. You had second-degree burns, and your lungs were almost completely ashen from the smoke! I'm so glad you're safe!" exclaims Effie.

I groan, trying not to focus on what she's saying. I want my memories to float around in oblivion for as long as the morphling will allow them to.

"Yeah," Haymitch adds. "You're a trooper, kid."

Finally, a man with icy, silver hair in a white coat walks in through the door. He looks much more professional and composed than Haymitch, who slyly slips his flask into his coat, hiding it away from the other man's sight.

"Is he ready, doctor?" the peppy, Capitol woman asks, hovering over me.

The doctor presses some buttons on my vital monitor and jots something down on his tablet of paper. After a brief hesitation, he removes the needle from my arm and detaches the sensors from my chest and pulse. I'm too numb to even feel the pinch of the needle.

"Alright, Peeta, you're good to go. You gave us quite a scare there. I, uh, hope your interview goes well." he says, before hastily exiting the room. Almost as if he couldn't bear to talk to me.

Well, it would surely go better if they didn't cut off my drug supply_. _I have no idea how I'm going to power myself through watching the scenes from the Games without it. Though I feel numb right now, I know that there's just a tempest of emotion just waiting to storm over me. I'm not exactly looking forward to it.

"Come, on, Peeta!" Effie coaxes, practically pulling me off the hospital bed. "You'll need to pay your stylists another visit before you appear on television!"

"How long have I been out?" I ask.

"About a day. Don't worry, it's normal for the condition you were in." she replies, as if second-degree burns and black lungs were an every day occurrence. "Now, up and at 'em!"

I grunt, lifting myself up out of the bed. Since I'm still drugged, Effie lends me her hand as she helps me walk down a long, white corridor to a steel elevator at the end. Her heels clack loudly against the vinyl, while Haymitch's loafers tap at a much less menacing pitch. My feet are bare, and the cool sensation of the slick floor feels fantastic compared to the hot, compressing boots I wore in the arena. I notice my injuries on my leg and my foot are both gone as well. My stomach twists a little. The memories of how I got those injuries are beginning to fade into clarity.

As we ride up in the elevator, Effie pats me on the back. "Oh, Portia and your prep team will be so happy to see you, Peeta. Everyone's been just raging about you! Yours is the most popular name in the entire Capitol!"

Haymitch leans lazily against the wall, having drank the last drop of his liquor. "Yeah, besides Cato's."

_Cato._

Effie scrunches her face up at Haymitch. "Don't start, Haymitch."

"It's the truth," he says, filling the entire elevator with his strong breath of alcohol. "He's right up there with Katniss. 'Cause no one would've guessed that they swung that way."

_Katniss._

The elevator doors roll open, leading me back to the familiar, bustling salon where I was initially prepped for the first set of interviews. I never knew there was a hospital underneath it. Utopia, Dima and Wellum come barreling toward me, their arms wide open. They all look slightly different. Dima dyed her hair bright orange. Wellum has lost some weight. Utopia's hair is tied up in a different fashion than before. I groan. I'm too tired to deal with them right now.

"Peeta!" bellows Utopia as she flies into my arms, hugging me with all her strength. "Oh, Peeta, I cried so much watching this year's Games!"

Wellum simply pats me on the back. I'm sure that after watching the way I interacted with another man, he's a bit too intimidated to show much more affection to me. I don't blame him. "Yeah, that was pretty deep. I'm really sorry that happened to you." he says.

"Thank you." I say, acknowledging their respect. Although it's difficult taking anyone that so closely resembles a clown seriously.

Effie converses cordially with Dima, discussing something I can hardly hear over Wellum and Utopia's chatter. I hear the words "morphling", "sensitive" and "ready" uttered in pieces of their discussion. Although I'm not sure where they all click together. Finally, Effie and Haymitch excuse themselves and board the elevator again. Effie makes no other effort to talk to me, but Haymitch smiles sympathetically in my direction.

"Come on, Peeta, we've got to wax you up." Dima says, patting my back and guiding me down the hall. I cringe as the memory of being waxed slowly floats into my mind. For some reason, this hall seems a lot longer than the one on the floor below it. They walk me into the room with a bed and black light, instructing me to lie down as Utopia and Wellum spread the thick goop all over my legs.

"Peeta, you're the all the rage here in the Capitol!" Utopia says, slapping a cotton strip of cloth onto my leg.

"Yeah, everyone is talking about you. Peeta this, Peeta that. I hear it everywhere I go." Dima tells me.

"That's nice to know." I reply, not sure if I'm being sarcastic or not. All I know for sure is that I'm trying as hard as I can not to think about what happened in the arena. I think my stylists are avoiding the topic as well, keeping their enthusiasm about my victory at a trivial minimum.

I wince, hissing in pain as Wellum rips a piece of fabric off of my other leg, along with a patch of hair. "Oh, honey, I know it hurts, but it will all be over soon." Utopia coos.

Wellum narrows his eyebrows, fixing his gaze on his wax strip. "I'm trying to be gentle as I can. The last thing you need right now is more pain."

Along with my legs burning from having the hair yanked out of them, I feel the first sting in my heart as well. No amount of morphling can mask my hurting soul. And no amount of avoiding the matter will heal it. "The only thing I need right now is him." I say, quietly.

Wellum, Dima and Utopia all stop waxing me for a minute and just look up at each other, as if I were a child that had just unknowingly spoken a newly learned curse word. They know exactly what I'm talking about. My words resound in my head, overpowering the upbeat music in the background that plays over the small speakers on the ceiling.

I need him.

It's almost as though my barrier of numbness has just burst, and all of my memories and emotions are flooding over and drowning me. Cato died. I'm still alive. Because he died. And it's all this fucking Capitol's fault.

"Peeta," Dima says, stroking my hair. "Let's try not to think about that right now. You're safe and sound. And everyone loves you. So many of our male coworkers have come out of the closet, thanks to your bravery and boldness with Cato in the arena!"

"That... That doesn't make me feel any better." I retort. I can't stop the tears that start to swell my eyes. My body tells me to smack the bitch in the face, just for being part of the Capitol, but I restrain myself. Great. Now everyone thinks I'm a gay icon, too.

"Tell you what," the striped-haired man says, seeing my tears. "Since you don't feel good, we won't make you wear any make-up, if you don't want to. We'll just wax you and do your hair, get you a bite to eat, and then send you over to Portia. Alright?" he bargains.

I try to make myself smile out of respect. "Thank you, Wellum."

My prep team offers me their overly polished grins, returning to their job of waxing. What stupid concerns they have. They can mend whatever physical wounds I have, but they'll never be able to fill this gaping hole in my heart.

Finally, they've finished my legs and are ready to start on my chest.

"Anyway, on a much happier note, Lola and I are getting our hair dyed on Saturday!" Utopia enthuses to Dima and Wellum. I don't even pay attention to their near useless conversation. I wish that my concerns consisted only of things like the color of my hair. But they run much deeper than that. As Wellum spreads the hot substance over my chest, I can't help but notice that my heart is physically aching. My stomach feels knotted under all the pressure. I close my eyes, trying to channel the last bits of morphling in my system. But it's no use. As if he were hiding in the insides of my eyelids, Cato's face is the only thing I can see.

I stay silent, trying to choke back tears through my prep team's entire shift with me. My throat feels heavy and molten with hot saliva, and my head pounds. I feel so devastated. Usually, I can at least foresee into the near future, hopeful about the things yet to come. But that fire in the arena burnt a lot more than the undead. It burnt my first love. It scorched our plans of winning the Games together and leading a better life. It damned my future to lie in ashes, to the point of no return. I don't even want to know what happens next. It makes me sick just to think about going home, facing all of the judgement for my relationship, and worst of all, for killing Katniss. I'll have to face Gale. Prim. Mrs. Everdeen. And I know they'd never forgive me. I take a deep breath to combat the sickness in my stomach. I just want to go back and relive every short moment I've ever spent with Cato. I feel as though I wasted too much time being afraid of him, looking at him like a monstrous Career, when truly he was just as human as me.

By now, they've waxed my entire body, moved me to another room and have styled my hair in the same fashion as they did for my last interview. I'm surprised I haven't broken down yet, because the pain I'm carrying feels much heavier than any sack of flour I've ever had to lift. The rage I feel towards this world is roaring louder by the second, but it just manifests itself in sadness. Sitting in front of a mirror in a salon chair, I watch a single tear roll down my cheek. Shit. Thankfully, my stylists' backs are turned, allowing me to quickly wipe it away, and save it for later when I'm sure I'm alone. I've already cried enough in front of Panem's people, I surely don't need to do it again.

"Alright," says Dima, walking over to a tablet embedded in the wall. "What'll you have to eat, Peeta? I can give you whatever you want."

Food is the last thing on my mind. "I'm really not hungry."

The citrus-haired woman frowns. "Peeta, you have to eat! You haven't had food in so long!"

"Oh, get the tacos, Peeta, they're fantastic!" Utopia chirps.

I sigh. "I guess I'll have tacos, then."

"Coming right up." Dima says, pressing a few buttons on the tablet. Not even thirty seconds later, she opens a small door of a cubby in the wall and pulls out a plate of three decadent tacos. I would normally be impressed, but I don't care about Capitol technology. In fact, I despise it. It's what the Gamemakers used to kill so many Tributes, Tributes that didn't deserve to die.

"Here you are, Peeta." She hands me the plate. "We're going to take our break now, so we'll just be in the next room over. We'll send in Portia in a few minutes."

"Alright."

It smells like it was just cooked minutes ago, unlike the stagnant food that we had to eat in the arena. But food means nothing to me right now. Reluctantly, I choke it down. I don't really want to eat, and means that my prep team has decided to take their break, I could easily shove this in the trash. But I know it's probably best for my body to be nourished, so I let myself eat.

When I've finished my last bite, I sit back in my chair and sigh. Words can't even describe how much I don't want to be here right now. I don't really even want to be anywhere, for that matter. I just want to disappear. My mind tracks back, over my first few days at the Capitol. Over my stay with Katniss. Trying to take her hand in our chariot. How Cinna crafted her into the girl who was on fire. How she was the epicenter of my heart at the time. I chuckle. How foolish I was. I can't believe I made such an idiot of myself during our interviews, when I told everyone that I loved her. I wonder how everyone received that back home. It doesn't matter, though, I killed her. Now they think I'm a traitor. A murderer.

Before I know it, my head is buried in my arms, which rest on the little table below the mirror. I'm sobbing so hard I can hardly breathe. But why? Is it from fear? From grieving? Or a combination of everything? Oh gosh, it hurts so bad. I'd like to ask God himself if it's even just to bestow so much pain on one person.

"Peeta?" A familiar, breezy voice calls my name.

I look up to see Portia, who immediately walks over and gives me a gentle embrace. I'm not sure why, but I hug her back as if she could ease all my pain. My anger has even subsided for her; I just don't feel like she's to blame for Cato's death.

"Oh, Peeta," she begins, patting my back. "I can't even imagine what you're feeling right now."

"It's horrible, Portia." I tell her through sobs.

"I bet," she says, patting me on the back. "What an awful way to lose someone that you love."

I shake like a leaf in her arms. I don't even care that she's seeing me like this. I couldn't hold it in any longer. "I hope you don't hate me for killing Katniss, either."

She shushes me, like a mother to her baby. In a strange way, it's comforting. "Peeta, Tributes have to kill each other. Even if it's your District partner. Honestly, Peeta, I look at it like you just proved to everyone how deeply you loved Cato. And that's more beautiful than anything."

I've never looked at it that way. It definitely makes me feel better, but it doesn't change the fact that I still don't have him here. Finally, my tears become slightly more controlled. "Thank you, but really, I just want Cato. That's all I want."

She steps back, the look on her face is forlorn. "Sadly, I can't give you that. But I can give you something close."

"What do you mean?" I ask, confused.

The blonde woman smiles placidly. "As you know, it's mine and Cinna's job to devise the most creative and loudly speaking outfits for you Tributes - or in your case, victors, to wear. I've collaborated with Cato's stylist. And we've both decided it would make an incredibly bold statement if you were to wear the exact same outfit that he wore for his first interview. The same one that touched his very flesh. Don't you agree?"

My heart swells at the thought of wearing Cato's outfit. I'm not sure if it's making me more upset or more happy, though. I'm still crying. "The exact same one?"

She smiles. "That's right. It'll be just like the way you wore his coat in the arena."

I throw my arms around her. "Thank you, Portia."

"No problem at all, Peeta."

When she's finally finished dressing me, I look in the mirror at the black leather getup. I sigh, remembering the boy who wore this before me. The pain of just hearing his name or thinking of his face is enough to move me to tears, but I feel as though my eyes have simply ran out.

"What do you think?" Portia asks, smiling.

"I've never felt more confident in anything I've ever worn." I tell her. It's the truth. It's almost as though his confidence could rub off on me through these clothes.

"I'm so glad. I'm sure that wherever he is, Peeta, he's definitely proud of you."

Chills pervade my spine at the words she just uttered. I'm beginning to like Portia a lot more than I did initially. "Thank you."

"Now," she says, assuming her business-like attitude. "We need to get you to the auditorium. Your interview starts in about ten minutes."

I take a deep breath, preparing myself to face the torturous recap of the Games. I can only hope that Caesar Flickerman will have just as much compassion as Portia. But I highly doubt it. So I just wish I had more morphling.

* * *

Unlike my last interview, I feel incredibly nervous. A man from the camera crew directs me to a red, plush love seat next to an enormous screen, instructing me to sit there for the remainder of the show. I stare at the other, empty cushion, with hopeless thoughts of what could have been clouding my head. I bite my lip. I've got to be strong now.

Within minutes, a sea of unfamiliar faces fills the auditorium, happily chattering with one another as if this were a much lighter occasion than it is. Those stupid fools, just mindless puppets of this fucked up world. They're purposeless.

Anticipating Caesar's entrance, I try to put aside my bitter resent of the Capitol. The lights dim dramatically down, and a strobe light spotlighted onto the stage nearly blinds me.

"Three... Two... One... Action!" shouts the camera man in the back.

The familiar and haunting tune of the Capitol anthem fills the air, as the blue-haired, shiny toothed man bounces onto the stage, waving warmly at the applauding audience. He plants himself in the chair on the opposite side of the large screen in between us.

"Welcome one, welcome all, to the annual Victor's Crowning!" he hollers with detestable enthusiasm. The crowd goes absolutely wild, cheering my name. I twiddle my thumbs, shuffling nervously in my seat. Here it comes.

"We bring to you the victor of the Seventy-Fourth Annual Hunger Games, Mr. Peeta Mellark!"

The crowd deafens me with their applause. Caesar smiles his classic, cheesy smile until the noise dies down. "Now, Peeta, this was certainly the most entertaining and captivating Games in the history of the very event. From your escalating relationship with Cato, to your surprise decision near the end, I was very surprised at the things that took place."

It's my turn to speak. Holy crap, it's my turn to speak. But what do I say?

"So was I."

"If I remember right, Peeta, last time we met, you had said that you were in love with Miss Katniss Everdeen, is that correct?"

This is it. If I can nail this one with just the right words, I could perhaps buy myself some mercy from District Twelve. "Yes, yes I did."

"Let's watch our first clip of the arena."

I brace myself. On the screen, I see our former band of Careers chasing Katniss up the tree with the tracker jacker nest. I watch Glimmer try to shoot her.

"Let me get her!" she cries, aiming her arrow, shooting, and of course, missing.

But what nudges my heart is the familiar boy I'm standing next to. The one who tries to scale the tree with his sword. I feel my eyes water, but I bite my lip harder. I think of Haymitch's compliment that he gave me before my last interview, that I have a way with words. I focus on that phrase, letting it boost my confidence. I'm not going to cry.

"So, as you see here, it looks like your allies tried to kill her. And Mr. Cato Villier was one of them. Is that correct?"

My emotions shake a little. I never knew his last name. Still, I maintain my composure. "Yes. But I think it would just be proper to inform you that Cato did not. He and I made an agreement, that he would refrain from killing her. Scaling the tree like that was really all to trick the other Tributes."

Caesar smiles, leaning forward in his chair. "Sly move, Peeta. Now let's move on to another tasty bit in the arena, shall we?" he consults the audience, who lets out a roar.

On the screen, I see Cato and I, bent over Clove's body. I lean back, trying to focus my eyes on the frame of the screen rather than the image itself. I don't want to become emotional during this interview. I'm determined to be a strong man today. I can't possibly wear Cato's clothes and be weak. But listening to the footage is just as difficult as watching it.

"Clove!" I hear myself yell.

"Clove, stay with me!" I hear Cato's voice. Oh gosh. It hurts.

"Peeta..." I hear her last word. My name.

The cannon booms. Caesar decides to spare a drop of mercy and pauses the clip.

"How did you feel when this girl died? It looked like it hit you in a hard place."

I'd certainly like to hit Caesar in a hard place, but I try to cast the urge away. "Well, it definitely did. It's always hard when an ally dies."

The television host nods. "Tell you what, Peeta. These seem like unpleasant memories to you. Let's move into a happy one, shall we?"

The audience roars. I know exactly which event he's talking about. I decide to watch this, no matter how much it hurts. I want to see it.

"I don't want a bitch, okay? I want... something else." The Cato on the screen says in a hushed voice.

"A guy?" I ask.

"Yeah, pretty fucking pathetic, huh?"

I can almost hear the tenseness in my voice. "Not at all."

Suddenly, we kiss. It's absolutely beautiful, to say the least. I can't help but feel a sting of sorrow, though, knowing that it's nothing but a memory at this point. The audience swoons, cooing over the sight. The clip pauses.

"How did that feel?"

I smile sadly, staring at the image on the screen of our perfectly locked lips. "Absolutely perfect."

"Have you ever had a kiss that good?"

"That was actually my first kiss."

The crowd goes insane with applause. Are they happy for me? I don't know. There certainly isn't any reason to be.

Caesar chuckles. "What a perfect kiss! Now, you and I both know there is some other footage with that same topic that we can't show, at the mercy of our younger viewers. And I'm sure you all know what it is, am I correct?"

The audience screams. It's a bizarre feeling, to have a crowd of people enthusing over my sexual experiences. It's invasive, to say the least.

"How did you feel about that, Peeta?"

"Well, if you couldn't tell, it felt good." I say, causing the audience to laugh. I admit, I'm a little disgusted at myself for approaching this matter with such distaste. It was a very serious thing, but I'll do what I can to keep my emotions at bay.

"Of course it did! Let's roll some more footage, but this time, I'm sorry to say, it won't be as pleasant."

For about twenty minutes, I watch some of the other Tributes' demises. I watch Marvel spear the District Eleven girl in the stomach, then Katniss shoot him in return. I have to be honest, I never really cared for Marvel. It didn't phase me much. I also watch a recap of the Bloodbath, and of the fox-faced girl's poorly thought out move that led to her death. I clench my fists. It's all the Capitol's, namely President Snow's fault. As unpleasant as this is to watch, I know it won't come near to the things I will have to see next.

And when that moment finally comes, Caesar leans in toward me, as if to console me from a distance. Personally, it just feels like mockery. "As we approach the end of our show, Peeta, there are some very important moments in the arena that I'm sure you haven't forgotten."

I take a deep breath. "Yes, there are."

Katniss's whispery voice comes through the screen. "Come on, Peeta. It's either you stay with me and win, or be with him and die. You choose."

I hiss at the sight of myself knifing her violently into a bloody pulp. I feel an immense wave of shame come over me. Without even thinking, I place my palm over my face. The audience makes sounds of repulsion... Maybe I can't buy myself much mercy after all.

"That was a brave act on your part, Peeta. It's not too often that an outlying District team kills their partner."

I sigh. It definitely wasn't brave, you sadistic freak. "I wish there was some way that it didn't have to happen. I can only pray that the people back home can forgive me."

Shit. That's going to sound corny as hell. I can just imagine Gale stewing over it right now, plotting out his revenge on me for killing his girlfriend. I guess I could understand where he's coming from, though. I would kill the Gamemakers for killing the one I love if I had the chance to. The audience bought my line, though. They're making sympathetic cries.

"I would surely hope so. I wish you the best of luck." Caesar says, his voice low and serious. "Shall we watch the next clip?"

I shrug my shoulders, trying to look like I don't care. In reality, I'm right on the border of a breakdown. "If you insist."

How can they even make me watch this? This clip is painstakingly long, beginning with Cato and I eating the raspberry cupcake. The audience laughs at his misinterpretation of its flavor. I make myself laugh as well, trying to combat the rising madness in my soul. Soon, I'm watching him hold me, listening to our dialogue about hope of winning together. I blink back tears, wishing I could just have stayed in his arms forever. Once the fire ignites and the beasts within it ravage their way into the cave, I decide not to watch. This time, however, I openly stare at the floor. Everyone should understand how difficult this is for me. It feels like ages that I stare at my shoes, listening to the desperation, the insanity and the steady flow of commitment that is spoken by Cato and I.

"Please remember me." The boy on the screen says.

I hear the flames crackle and ignite, and my bellowing out for him. I can't help but shed a single tear from just listening to it. When the clip pauses, I wipe my cheek and stare bravely up into Caesar's face, who looks very emotional himself. I can even hear sniffles in the hushed audience.

"I definitely will remember him." I say, using all my strength to say it with a straight face.

Caesar wipes his eyes with a bright blue handkerchief from his pocket. "I'm sure you'll never forget him. I know we won't."

I feel a tear develop in the corner of my eye as well. Maybe he was a little more merciful than I assumed. "Thank you."

"Did you really love him, Peeta?"

The room falls silent, waiting for my response. "I still do."

The audience groans in sympathy for me, as Caesar sheds another tear. It feels like I should be the one doing all the crying.

"Anyway," the polished man says, standing up and requipping his expressive stage voice. "Please welcome President Snow onto the stage!"

The audience hoots and screams as the snake-eyed, white haired man steps forth with a golden crown, shaped like a laurel wreath. Almost identical to the one Cato wore in his chariot. I could kill him right now, but I've seen enough death already to be turned off to the idea. Maybe I'd just like to sock him in the face. Either way, as much as I despise this man for putting all these innocent teenagers through this, I lower my head and allow him to crown me.

"May I present to you, victor of the Seventy-Fourth Annual Hunger Games." he declares, raising my hand up in the air. His deep voice booms through the auditorium, which is already ablaze with noise from the spectators.

I stare over the sea of faces, watching them all admire me. But I have no pride to show. I can't help but think that it's all for a lost cause.

* * *

An avox escorts me back to the Penthouse. The elevator is still just as magnificent as I remember it to be, Transparent and scenic, allowing one to see the entire city skyline and the orange sun dropping behind it from an overhead view. I remember watching the sunset before the Games began, almost positive it'd be the last one I'd ever see. And I wish it was. I find myself missing Cato even more after watching those clips, and it feels as though I've packed my emotions down so tightly, they're about to erupt. It's near impossible not to cry at this point.

Finally, the delicate ding chimes at the twelfth floor, and the doors part. Effie and Haymitch rise up from the table to greet me. I'm surprised they'd even spit in my direction after what I've done to Katniss.

"Oh, that was a simply splendid interview! You're so very strong, Peeta! I'm so proud of you." she says, once more giving me a powerful, olfactory hug.

I return the affection, despite the strong scent. A saline drop falls from of my eye. "I tried, Effie. But it was truly difficult."

I think Haymitch is sober, because when Effie hands me over to his churlish embrace, he smells of cologne rather than liquor. His posture is even peculiarly proper, for him at least. "Well done, kid. You took some pretty hard knocks. Hell, even harder ones than I've taken."

I hang my head, pitying Haymitch but knowing no victor of the Hunger Games could possibly be as despondent as I. "I just hope you guys don't hate me after what I did to Katniss."

Haymitch pats me on the back. "Kid, everyone's got to kill at some point in that arena."

"And you did it for love!" Effie bubbles, more animated over my tragic romance than I am. In fact, hearing her say that makes me feel even more devastated.

I flop down on a plush chair, feeling relieved of the pressure to look strong and composed. I even take off my crown. "I wish Cato didn't have to die." I tell them, through a light sprinkle of tears.

"The Games are a cruel place." Effie says. "But thankfully, you get to go home tomorrow!"

My heart drops. My palms sweat. My mouth goes dry. Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, of course, it does.

"Home?" I squeak.

"Well, of course! You can't just live here for the rest of your life, I'm sure your family would love to see you!"

Haymitch and I exchange gazes. He knows exactly what I'm thinking. I can't go home. I just can't. After what I've done to Katniss, after I've had a relationship with Cato... I'd be ripped to shreds. People from the Seam would place dirt at a higher value than me, and that's saying a lot coming from the poorest District in Panem. Delly would never talk to me again. Gale would kick my ass... The list goes on.

"When do I have to go home?" I sniffle, my heart racing near the speed of light, sending me into a panic.

But Effie seems unaware of my worried state. "We'll board the train tomorrow morning. It will be a big, big, big day!"

Haymitch walks over to the table, retrieves a bottle of liquor and takes a huge gulp. "I think we ought to give him some time to process it, Effie. He's already had a big, big, big enough day."

The woman seems confused. "Pardon?"

He motions her toward the elevator, without explanation. "Come on. Let's just give him the Penthouse to himself for a while."

"Alright, but there really is so much to do!" She agrees with reluctance, stepping in the elevator.

Haymitch shoots me a despaired smile once she's entered, setting his bottle of liquor quietly on a side table by the door. "Knock yourself out, kid." he whispers. "Welcome to victory."

The door rolls shut.

I stare at the bottle of alcohol, knowing that it won't do anything for me. I appreciate his offer and all, but the mere thought of becoming an awful drunk like Haymitch doesn't sit well with me. Then again, he probably knows how I feel better than anyone, because it's rumored that he lost a lover in his Games. But I remain upright in my decision to refrain from drinking my pain away. I know exactly where I want to go. I bate my jumping breaths, listening to the elevator descend, ding and resurface before stepping inside. I take a deep breath, as my finger quickly presses the "OBSRV" button.

I halfway expect to see Cato, standing at the chair. But the room is empty. As soon as I step out of the elevator, I swear I can smell nicotine. As if it were an immediate response of my body, I fall onto the floor, shaking with the loudest sobs I've cried since the arena. There's no one here to judge me.

_Cato, where are you when I need you? I'm not strong, and as much as you think you were weak, I'm much more so. Even in your clothes, I'm nowhere near as strong as you._

I drag my tired and weary body over to the chair and sit down. It's as if the chair were my life ring in this sea of tears. Memories, although short lived, come raging over me like a furious tempest.

_From the moment I first met you, I was always enthralled by you. It was here that I smoked my first cigarette with you, and it was here that you told me about your home. You've had a hard life, haven't you? I can't help but wonder how that vile woman - your mother - must be perceiving her loss. But it doesn't matter. You're with your brother now. I hope you're much happier. Your chains are gone. It was here that we made our alliance. And in the arena, you were always my pillar of strength, even when I didn't realize it. I'm disgusted with myself over how much time I wasted fearing you. You didn't have to act macho for me. I would have loved you no matter what. I remember our first kiss. I remember when you told me you loved me. Hell, I would kill Katniss again if it would bring you back. You promised to let me live. I remember when we made love, or whatever it was. I didn't mind giving you my innocence. You deserved it. You never had your own. I wish our plans of a life together could have actually happened, there was so much left undone... So much I didn't know about you. I know it was short, the time we had. But you've changed me. You have a hold on my heart that no one's ever been able to grasp. And your horrible fate, Cato, I could have taken it for you. I don't know why I didn't jump into the flames and let you live, but I hate myself for not. I would give anything to be in your arms again. Anything._

I feel breathless under my airless bout of madness... I swear I can see his face.

_I wish I still was holding your hand, Cato. If your hands were in mine, I would be sure they wouldn't sever..._

When I open my eyes, I stare around the room. The lights of the night sky are blurred together by my watery vision. I wipe them dry, still shaking from my sobs. A small escape shaft in one of the window walls catches my sight... Strange. I've never noticed it before. I pull myself over to the small door, which is just big enough for a person of Utopia's size to fit through. I open it, feeling the cool breeze entice me, as if it were begging me to step forth. A rush of adrenaline amplifies my tears... Should I do this? I think of what lies ahead - returning to District Twelve, facing my life without the one person who's changed it - it just seems so rational. I'm usually a sane person, but this... It feels so right. My breath hitches as I dangle my legs over, feeling them tingle fervently. I stare up at the dark sky above, almost as if I could see those eyes glowing down on me, and his arms stretched out, expectantly open as if to welcome me into the clouds. I inhale deeply.

_Cato, wherever you are, I'm coming for you. I will not live in a world without you, just singing the blues of helplessness.  
_

* * *

**Author's Note: Well, there's the end... Oh gosh, I feel like I've disappointed everyone. :( My lack of smut in the last chapter... my lack of reviews for the last chapter (barely any), and of course, this. I apologize if I disappointed you. I feel like a crappy author. But thank you for your kind reviews, even though they were few. :) I appreciate whatever I can get. I'm considering going back through and revising most of this story, so if you have any suggestions, PLEASE review. I beg of you. xD**

**Was everything done alright? I've had this ending in mind since June, and I'm just dying to know what you think. I know it's a lot to read, 10k words, but please review. Thank you so much to my loyal readers. I love mingling with you about this amazing pairing. 3 I appreciate all the criticism and praise I got too.**


End file.
